Viral
by deathofaraven
Summary: "I've been thinking about you all night, Sebastian darling, but I never imagined we would be working in the same area tonight! I am just thrilled to death. You see, an awful lot of souls on the To Die list have been vanishing lately. I wonder…you aren't being naughty now, are you…sweet Bassy?"
1. Pt 1, Chpt I: His Master, Unconscious

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kuroshitsuji! D: But Yana Toboso does. Isn't that awesome? Wouldn't you rather go read her work than sue me since I'm not making any profit off of this?

**Dedication:** Much thanks to Rebeldynasty, Ravencroft1972, and chaotic one1, without their support and help I'd probably just be sitting here, thinking about life, and not writing this right now. =3 Thank you.

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><p><strong>Part One: An Introduction to Demons<strong>

**Chapter I:  
>His Master, Unconscious<strong>

The rain refused to let up. It crashed down in waves upon the Phantomhive manor; the heavy drops drumming against every window like thousands of anxious fingers. The wind, however, had been far worse as it rattled every pane and howled…just like a child throwing a temper tantrum. In sharp contrast, the inside of the manor was strangely quiet. With the weather so bleak, it was unlikely any company would bother to brave the storm—the garden laid choked and empty amidst the downpour—and there were several hours yet until dinner leaving the maid, gardener, and cook with little to do. Most days, such free time would have resulted in explosions and screams amongst the staff members but, for some unfathomable reason, they had chosen to be silent that afternoon. The butler allowed himself a tiny, fleeting smirk; he, for one, wasn't going to complain about a little silence.

The tea trolley he was pushing gave an odd squeak-rattle of protest as Sebastian turned down a broodingly dim hallway. As soon as he heard it, he filed the information away for later—though it wouldn't do for his young master's trolley to be in anything less than perfect condition, it was simply more efficient to wait until either himself or Baldroy could look at the wheels at their leisure. Besides, if Sebastian stopped because of one small squeak, the schedule would get delayed and his young master's tea would go cold. For Sebastian, who felt deviating from the schedule was a crime worse than murder, putting off looking at the wheels for an hour or so was the lesser of the two evils.

Reaching his destination, he rapped smartly on the door and entered his master's study without further preamble.

Those who were unfamiliar with the young master usually had to stop and give the Earl a second look or spare a small laugh at his expense. Those who knew him were different; the few lucky enough to call him a friend acknowledged that he was cold and harsh, but, beneath that, there was a veneer of fierce loyalty and hard-to-show warmth, while those who were less-than-friendly with the Earl had, at the very least, a grudging respect for him. Ciel Phantomhive didn't particularly care, either way. He was the Queen's Guard Dog; he existed to protect the crown, not to gain the English people's favor—that was for Her Majesty to do. All that said, it was easy to understand why people might mock or coddle him. After all, the Earl was only thirteen. Small for his age and still retaining the soft, almost feminine, features of his youth, Sebastian could easily see why someone might think his young master was weak or easy to take advantage of. In the deep, dark recesses of his mind, the butler allowed himself a self-deprecating chuckle that he vowed would never reach the light of day…if only because he knew perfectly well just how dangerous his master was.

"Ugh, the _rats_ are finally beginning to calm," the young Earl drawled, making a show of his patience having been terribly tried as he refolded and dropped the newspaper uninterestedly onto his elegantly carved desk.

"The dock workers again, young master?" Sebastian inquired, taking a moment to both realize he'd been subtly addressed and to think on why his master would be (pretending to be) in such a mood. He'd noticed the mention of the on-going dock strike in the paper as he had ironed it that morning and, really, it had been such a small incident…was it even worth mentioning? Mentally frowning, he prepared the tea like an automaton. Though he was using one of the finer tea pots, he was not truly focused on it; this was merely an ordinary part of the day—the butler had made tea a thousand times before and, before he met his end, he knew he would make it a thousand times more.

"It's ridiculous to argue over six pence," the boy muttered, his tone both dark and bored.

Sebastian stayed quiet as he poured out his master's drink. On one hand, it would have been extremely amusing to rebuke the boy, point out the hard truths that, while the young master understood, he would _never_ have to suffer through, and then watch as Ci—_the Earl_ regained his composure with annoyed banter that Sebastian had found to have grown increasingly witty as of late. He discarded the thought immediately and forced himself to remember the flip side of replying to the boy: he _was_ playing a butler currently and, with any more delays, the tea was soon to be ruined. Besides, it wasn't difficult for him to see his young master had no desire to be in the same _mansion_ with him, much less the same room. _I suspect today is going to be one of_ those _days._

"Indeed, my Lord," Sebastian replied, using his best butler's voice and wearing it as well as one of his tail coats. "If it's of no consequence to you, perhaps we might move along to tea?"

The young Earl had already turned away from him, staring up at his numerous books through his one uncovered eye, and so his only reply was a nod. Or…his only intended reply. The part of Sebastian that was ravenous—that he kept as caged as possible most days because it was not "Sebastian Michaelis", it was something _other_—found it extremely amusing that the young master seemed unsure whether to tense or relax whenever his butler approached. Of course, it _annoyed_ him in equal parts, as well….

"For tea today, we have a clafoutis of unpitted, rehydrated cherries served with a vanilla mascarpone cream," Sebastian summarized succinctly, placing the plate before his lord. All distractions aside, he'd timed everything quite well. The clafoutis was still hot—the perfect serving temperature—and the cream was just beginning to melt, falling whorishly over the sugar-dusted confection. "Accompanying it is a smokier variety of Keemun tea imported directly from the Anhui province…I believe it will complement the sweetness of the cherries quite well."

The Earl took a slow bite, something like approval momentarily flashing across his face, before he frowned at his tea cup. "Imported directly…?" The frown deepened. "This wouldn't happen to be yet _another_ gift of Lau's, would it?"

"I could not say either way, sir," his butler replied truthfully. Looking at all the tea they had stocked, sometimes it was a miracle he knew where any of them came from. "If it's not to your liking, I can remove it immediately."

"It suits me fine."

"As you say, young master." Sebastian pottered around, completing what necessary menial tasks he had: keeping the coke in the fireplace well stocked to fight against the outside cold and replacing books and documents in their allotted places. He wasn't certain if it amused him or not that _Faust_ was no longer in its long-untouched space, high up amidst the lesser read tomes, nor was it with any of the other books he'd put away. It was…_intriguing_. Once he'd completed the small tasks, he returned to his master's side to refill his tea cup. "Is there anything else you require of me, sir?"

_Say "yes"_, a tiny voice in the back of his mind hissed. _Say you finally want to address that order you gave me in the maze, young master. Say you understand the consequences of those words and that you are willing to accept them finally. Let us put this matter to bed for good_. He purposely ignored the other voice in his head that said he was being petulant.

"No," the Earl told him disinterestedly. "There is nothing."

"Very well then, sir; I'll send Snake up to you, then?"

"That would be—"

They were cut off by the loud sound of running footsteps approaching the study. Both master and butler barely had time to glance in each other's general direction before the heavy door burst open and Mey-Rin came toppling inside. The wine-haired maid tripped over the hem of her skirts and she abruptly lurched forward…only to avoid falling flat on her face by grabbing onto the door frame just in time.

"Young master!" she panted before she could be rebuked for running in the manor, regaining her balance. Waving an envelope over her head energetically, she added, "Young master, a letter just came for you; yes, it did!"

"Who from?" the Earl asked, his tone expressionless but his one visible cobalt eye shining with interest.

"H-he wouldn't say, sir," Mey-Rin blurted, barely beginning to regain her breath. "Just said it was important, he did."

"Bring it here then, Mey-Rin," Sebastian instructed, ever patient in actions despite not feeling quite so relaxed mentally, at that moment.

"It's quite alright, Sebastian," the Earl rebuked, standing up. At his butler's inquiring gaze, he went on coolly: "Don't you have _other_ things to be doing than getting my mail, especially when I am present to receive it?"

Sebastian gritted his teeth, forcing his usually unflappable demeanor to remain so as his lord rounded his desk.

"Besides," the boy added, "I—" Whatever the Earl was, the other two didn't find out. He abruptly pulled his hands to his head as though trying to push against a sudden pain building there. The colour drained from his face and he wobbled violently.

The butler saw it as though everything was happening at half-speed. The master tried to regain his balance, but his knees buckled beneath him, seemingly unable to hold his meagre weight any longer. In the distance, Sebastian seemed to hear Mey-Rin shout out in horrified surprise, but, before _that_ could even register fully to him, he'd moved to catch his master. Sprawled on the floor with a firm grip on the Earl, he said sharply to the maid, "Mey-Rin, put the letter down. Phone a physician at once."

Sebastian didn't wait for her to leave as he began checking over his young master. The Earl was unconscious, colour high in his cheeks though the rest of his face was startlingly pale. He pried one of his white gloves off with his teeth and gently pressed his bare hand to the boy's forehead. Little Lord Phantomhive's skin was clammy to the touch and was nearly as hot as the coke in the fireplaces. Sebastian frowned to himself as he pulled his glove back on—hopefully Mey-Rin wasn't so incompetent that she couldn't manage a simple phone call, they were going to need the doctor as soon as possible.

"_Really_, my lord," Sebastian murmured with a long-suffering sigh as he rose to his feet with Ciel in his arms, "I _am_ beginning to worry about you. If it is not _one_ life threatening situation, it is another. Either you are _extremely_ unfortunate or you're doing it _on purpose_…."

_Such a pity…the tea will be utterly _ruined _now. And I went through so much trouble to make it perfect, as well…._

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><p>The London Hospital was exceptionally grim that night. The gas lamps barely permeated the darkness in most corridors and, despite the overworked staff's best efforts, the number of ailing patients far surpassed them.<p>

"This is no place _at all_ for a lady!" Grell Sutcliff, self-proclaimed Queen of the Reapers, fretted, taking in all the ill humans around him. "Oh, that Will! Doesn't he realize what a _fragile_ constitution I have?!" With his brilliant scarlet hair and coat, Grell stood out like a rose in a field of daisies. When one considered that he was meant to be finding a soul of the To Die list, his ostentatiousness seemed very out of place. That said, Grell had been to the hospital quite often and so he knew where was best to avoid the medical staff…not to mention how shortsighted humans were when it came to a supernatural being in their presence. It wasn't _that_ difficult for such a deadly efficient reaper to do. Reconsidering his previous complaint, Grell added fervently, "Oh, but those cold eyes…mmm, almost as delicious as dear Bassy! I suppose I can't stay mad at him for too long…."

Grell strutted down the labyrinth of hospital halls in his stylish red heels, looking for the specific ward his current target was in. He'd already fetched five other souls in the area that night alone; it was…_very_ strange. Very strange, indeed. "Come to think of it," Grell pondered aloud, "everyone _has_ been pulling an unusual amount of over time lately…it's no wonder Will's so _sullen_." The reaper perked up, grinning wolfishly to himself. "Nothing a few hours of _exercise_ with me wouldn't cure, if I do say so!"

He continued his commentary in his mind as he walked, alternating between annoyance at getting such a small, unimportant job assigned to him (when, _clearly_, he deserved much better) and thinking of ways to win over all the gorgeous men in his life. The second thought was much more enjoyable than the first. Consequently, Grell almost walked straight past the ward he'd been searching for.

The ward was barely lit and almost entirely empty. Three beds in the long room were occupied by living patients, and another was occupied by the not-so-alive woman Grell had been searching for. She wasn't a pretty little thing, _that_ was for sure. Her hair was like straw and her skin was badly damaged from years of manual labor, her waxy flesh pulled tightly over the bones of her face. The only redeeming quality about her Grell could see was a lovely red ribbon holding her hair back. Grell double checked the To Die list, not wanting to annoy Will or management enough to where they took away his beloved death scythe…_again_. Sarah Beaumont…the picture on the list matched the woman in the bed and Grell grinned to himself. _Deadly efficient, as ever. Now…let's see why the records aren't being as affected as they ought to…._

Grell coaxed the cinematic record out of the near-dead woman, watching each bit closely. What he saw nearly caused him to have a complete breakdown. "Not _again_! It's not _fair_!"

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hello. *waves* So...this is my second time posting anything for this fandom and I'm still a little nervous. Trying to combine the anime and the manga and some real life historical events have been a real treat so far, but a fun one, at that. For clarification's sake, this fic's canon is up to either then end of the current arc (or maybe the one before it, I haven't entirely decided yet; if it becomes critical to the plot, I'll let you know) of the manga and up to the end of the second season of the anime (which, for my purposes, ended differently; mwahahaha!). ^^ Hopefully that makes it easier to figure out where my head's at. Coincidentally, I'm having too much fun coming up with recipes for this fic; it's like cooking without all the work. =D Anyway, I'm gonna shut up now. I hope you've enjoyed the chapter. ^^ Please review and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter II: His Butler, Solitary

**Chapter II:  
>His Butler, Solitary<strong>

The peaceful silence that had occupied the Phantomhive manor all day had changed to a suffocating stillness in a mere two hours. _That_ had been how long it took for the doctor to reach them from his previous place of business. Once the doctor had arrived and had been alerted to the situation, despite Sebastian being both the house's butler and acting steward for the past three years, only Tanaka had been allowed inside the Earl's bedroom while the doctor examined him. The rest of the staff had been left outside the door to listlessly wait.

Bard and Mey-Rin leaned against opposite walls, not looking at each other; though the chef's cheek was smeared faintly with soot—as was quite usual—the maid, for once, had removed her over-large glasses as she stared contemplatively at the carpet. Finnian, the gardener, had pulled one of the clips from his golden blond hair and, expression forlorn, was turning it over and over in his hands as he sat against an empty guest room's door. And Snake, the footman and newest member of the household, had settled down in Mey-Rin's shadow, two of his usual serpents twining about his arms and shoulders slowly.

The only one not slumped in worry or outwardly fretting was Sebastian, who had not moved from standing perfectly at attention since they had been left there. He stood watching the door, hands stiffly by his sides, as unmoving as a statue. By rights of their covenant, Sebastian had every right to be in the room with his master—and it _vexed him_ terribly that he wasn't. However, because of social politics, the rules of propriety, and the fact that Tanaka _did_, in fact, out rank him, he was condemned to standing and waiting.

This…_ordeal_ was very strange to him. So sudden. Humans usually reeked of infection prior to any symptoms even showing, but, apart from a couple of headaches, his master had shown no signs of illness for quite some time. Was it possible Claude had been correct and his senses truly _had_ dulled from how long he'd been around humans? Sebastian doubted it. It was more likely that this illness had sprung from nowhere than that he had failed to previously detect it.

Another hour dragged by. The sounds of the storm began to abate, fading to a dull, peaceful murmur. A far off clock had barely chimed half-past six when the amassed staff started as the butler abruptly moved forward and opened the bedroom door, revealing a very startled physician—one Dr. Munroe—and the ever-calm Tanaka.

"Mr. Tanaka!" Mey-Rin, whose glasses had almost magically popped back onto her face, and Finny exclaimed enthusiastically, rushing over to the elderly steward for news. Though Baldroy and Snake were equally interested in the fate of their master, they approached Tanaka with a might more care as to his age and how well he might be handling the situation.

As Tanaka spoke quietly to the staff and Munroe got his belongings together, Sebastian used the opportunity to look in on his young master. The Earl of Phantomhive was sound asleep, and so covered in blankets that he was only visible by the cloud of his dark hair against his pillow. _That_ situation apparently in hand, Sebastian quietly closed the door.

While he had been distracted, Tanaka and the servants had begun moving away from their master's bedroom and towards the servant's staircase secreted away at the far end of the hall and Munroe had already left the hallway. Sebastian paused, nodding to Snake in a nonverbal command to continue following the elderly steward when the footman looked back questioningly, and reconsidered his options. The good doctor had left his hat behind. No butler worth his salt would let a guest leave without their possessions, right? And if that guest had information that it would be natural for said butler to inquire about….

"Dr. Munroe!" Sebastian called sharply, slowing his gait from abnormally fast to a more human level of quickness as he finally reached the departing doctor. As the physician turned to face him, he added, "Your hat, sir."

"Hmm? Ah! Yes, thank you," the doctor blustered with a faint cough, not sounding thankful in the least as he accepted the bowler.

"If it is not too _impetuous_ a question, might I inquire as to my master's condition?"

Munroe was silent a long moment, evidently attempting to judge who, exactly, he was speaking to. Seeming to decide he was speaking to a man of character instead of some lowly stable boy or junior footman as he took in both the perfectly pressed uniform and the head butler's pin on his chest, he murmured, "The Earl's man, are you?" At Sebastian's answering smile, he added, "It's a fever."

"A mere fever?" the butler echoed, allowing a measure of surprise to flit across his face.

"Aye. A damn strange one, as well. Been plaguing London these last weeks, each case sudden-like and never running within the same family or within acquaintances. Killing near everyone infected—" Munroe paused, gathering his thoughts, then continued: "I've given the Earl a sedative and left the rest of the vial with Mr. Tanaka. The best thing you can do for your master is let him rest and try to bring his temperature down. Good day to you."

Munroe turned back to the door as Sebastian obligingly opened it for him. Stopping directly in the middle of the frame, the physician added, "Were there no symptoms of illness _before_ the Earl collapsed?"

"No, sir. My lord complained of several _headaches_ this past week, but has mentioned no other issues."

The doctor was silent, thoughtful, for a long moment before nodding gruffly and resuming the trek through the rain back to his hansom. Sebastian closed the door on him, both glad to see the back of him and mildly concerned.

He flitted back to the Earl's room, making certain everything was still perfectly calm as he evaluated his options. The young master was still asleep and Sebastian's pocket watch read a quarter to seven; it was too late to start on dinner and he doubted his master would awaken anytime soon if previous illnesses were any indication. Not to mention that his lord's sudden fever was tugging at a distant memory. He couldn't recall the specifics, but he knew he'd heard something long ago about a sudden string of illness with only a fever as a symptom and no cure. If it was truly the same illness and it was truly sweeping through London, then it was a threat to his master and it needed to be investigated. _Decisions, decisions, whichever shall I choose?_

* * *

><p>"<em>Everyone<em>."

The call was sharp and authoritative, shocking the small staff commingling within the servant's hall out of their quiet conversation. Sebastian stood in the doorway, expression carefully neutral as Bard, Mey-Rin, and Snake turned to look at him. It took a moment longer for Finny to raise his head from their dining table and fix him with a fretful stare. Tanaka simply gazed gravely into his tea cup and didn't move from his seat.

"Everyone, I understand that the current situation is rather trying, but we cannot allow unfortunate circumstances to distract us from our duties. The young master would be sorely aggrieved," the butler told them, attempting to raise the morale enough to ensure _some_ work would actually be done. "Mr. Tanaka, would you please telephone Lady Elizabeth and inform her of the situation before you retire for the evening?"

Tanaka rose to his feet, the gaslight shining on his silvered hair and the resulting shadows turning the wrinkles on his face into deeply gouged scars as he somberly left to do as asked. It felt strange to nearly everyone present to not hear a single one of his usual light-hearted "ho-ho-ho"s as he departed.

Sebastian turned to the only female staff member and continued: "Mey-Rin, I expect we will be receiving company shortly; prepare the guest rooms. Finnian can assist you."

"Y-yes, Mr. Sebastian," Mey-Rin acquiesced, her voice thick with worry and trembling slightly as she teetered past him, nearly tripping over her skirts again as she did so.

The butler held Finny back when he tried to leave, preventing him from going anywhere momentarily, as he turned to Baldroy. "Bard, I've begun preparations for the evening meal. I need _you_ to complete it for me. I left the recipe out for you and marked where I left off. You _will_ follow it _to the letter_," he instructed, enunciating his final sentence _very_ carefully so as to make it clear to Bard that, should any sort of explosives or heavy artillery be used in the preparation, the next thing reduced to cinders would be the cook himself. Sebastian let it sink in a moment and when Baldroy gave no indication of whether he'd heard or not, he added, "Do you understand me, Bard? To the letter. No alterations of _any_ kind."

Bard nodded curtly in answer, outwardly aloof though the butler noticed that the blonde's pupils had dilated fractionally. The cook skulked past, a cigarette pinched precariously between his lips. As he passed Sebastian, he muttered cynically, "Everythin's done gone to pot now, ein't it?"

_Yes_, the butler thought. _It has. But how is it any different than any other day in this mansion?_ Perhaps the amount of trouble that seemed to be near magnetically attracted to the Earl had made him numb to it—accepting that trouble would _always_ find them, come what may, if it happened to be lurking within one hundred or so meters of them. Or perhaps it was his extraordinarily large amount of life experience combined with his demonic sensibilities. It didn't matter either way. While in a contract, he had no option other than to protect his master…and so he would. Even if his master seemed to be the cause of the trouble most days.

"What should we do?" Snake inquired somewhat meekly with an odd emotion in his golden eyes that Sebastian couldn't quite name. In an undertone, the footman added, "Says Keats."

"I need you both to keep an eye on the young master," Sebastian informed them, speaking quickly so as not to be interrupted. "Snake, you are to sit with him. Keep his temperature as cool as you can. Should he awaken, attend to him. I have an errand to run on the master's behalf, and so you will act in my stead until I return."

Snake had turned faintly green and his expression was laced with slight panic, as though he'd just been told he had to jump off a very high cliff and land safely with neither help nor ropes. Despite this, his voice was remarkably steady as he replied, "We will try our hardest to succeed…says Donne."

"I should return fairly soon, but, in the event that I've not returned in two hours, say…"—he paused to check the time on his pocket watch—"…nine thirty, Finny you are to switch off with Snake."

"M-_me?!_" Finny spluttered, staring back and forth between Sebastian and Snake with abject horror. "B-but I-I c-_can't_—"

"Finnian," Sebastian cut in shortly, not possessing enough patience to deal with this with any kind of compassion, "you are the closest in age to the young master and the only one to have previously tended to him while he was ill, other than myself. The later it gets the more likely he will awaken." He forced himself to not grit his teeth at Finny's helpless spluttering and to not reconsider if only to spare his sorely abused nerves. "You are the best option for helping Snake. There will be no further debating. Carry on with your tasks."

And, without further ado, the butler turned and walked from the room.

"Where do you think he's going? Asks Keats," Snake murmured to Finny, attempting to keep the aforementioned serpent from slithering up his shirt sleeve while still half wrapped around his neck.

"I-I don't—what am I supposed to do?!" the young gardener all-but wailed in despair, clearly thinking about his extreme strength as they also left the servant's hall. "What if I hurt the master?!"

Finny's fretting faded into the background as, thinking hard, Snake frowned behind his long fringe of pale hair. "He really left quickly…didn't even say good bye! I wonder what he's up to…says Emily."

* * *

><p>The Phantomhive estate, stately in its expansiveness and brooding in architecture, sat just beyond London's furthest edges. While close enough to make journeys into the city easy, it was also far enough that coal smoke did not taint the air and it took a couple hours to enter the city by carriage. Sebastian made the trip, on foot, in under fifteen minutes. The night was frigid and the wind fitful, but the rain seemed content to hang in the air like a thick mist, allowing for a seamless transition from the countryside's trees to the city's rooftops without the risk of being easily seen.<p>

Despite having a solid plan, Sebastian was far from content with the first half of it. But he had only two options and neither was very appealing. He _could_ go speak with Agni and Prince Soma in the townhouse about if they'd noticed any strange happenings lately…but then he would be stuck there for the next few hours, listening to inane questions and getting no information himself. (Not to mention the trouble it would cause, if only because Prince Soma would immediately flock to the Earl's side whilst he was resting and _that _would cause _far_ too much stress for the young master.) And so, in short order, he found himself entering a small parlor in a seedy part of town.

Cobwebs hanging thickly from the worn sign above the front door, the parlor looked very…empty to all passersby. However, not five minutes after Sebastian had entered it, laughter erupted from within in a booming, joyous cackle…much to the neighbors' displeasure.

Inside, the Undertaker had slumped over a counter, giggling hysterically into the old, slightly sticky (and very dusty) wood. His hands clutched at the surface for support, dangerously close to knocking over his urn of biscuits and beaker of tea. "Th-that was hilarious," the frost-haired reaper hiccupped, gasping for breath between guffaws. "Truly your best one yet, I'll have you know!"

Sebastian withheld a frown. He felt…marginally uncomfortable being here. Undertaker was a chaotic factor that, recently, he couldn't truly predict. On one hand, Undertaker was cheerful (if exceptionally morbid) and willing to help as long as he got a laugh out of it. On the other hand, the last two times he and his master had happened upon Undertaker, Sebastian had been run through with a death scythe, attacked with sotoba, and made an utter fool of while his master had been threatened and nearly devoured by corpses. Not to mention Undertaker's strange fixation on the Earl of Phantomhive and the fact that one of his funeral lockets was in memory of the Earl's grandmother. No, Undertaker hid his powers a mite too well to be fully trusted any longer.

As Undertaker's laughter slowed, Sebastian attempted to speak, only to be cut off with a soft hum of noise. "You don't need to explain, my _hilarious_ master butler," Undertaker informed him with a faint giggle. "I know _ex-act-ly_ why you're here."

"Goodness, do you really? Why am I unsurprised?" the butler intoned, voice flat with sarcasm.

Undertaker tittered again as he stood and scuttled over to a nearby coffin. He carefully removed the plain lid and peered inside with interest as he slowly said, "So the little Earl's sick, then." He shook his head disappointedly, his strange hat flopping pathetically at the movement. "Looks like you've failed to protect him again."

Inwardly, Sebastian bristled with anger. However, he forced himself to remain outwardly calm and discreetly sucked in a breath of dusty air to steady himself before sharply inquiring, "What do you know of the recent fever deaths in London?"

"Not very much more than you do, actually," Undertaker admitted musingly. He leaned in closer to the female corpse he was examining and, dissatisfied, picked at one of her sutures before snipping it open with a tiny pair of scissors. As he began to carefully remove the original sutures, he added, "_Very strange_, this illness. Never seen anything like it, meself. First, it springs up without warning and attacks its victim _here_." Undertaker gently tapped the corpse's forehead before softly stroking the hair out of her face and returning to his work. "Then it turns their bodies into little ovens and heats their precious, precious insides until they're cooked through. And then they get to visit with _me_ for a little while."

"_Cooked?_" Sebastian echoed, taken aback by that particular detail. _That _was something Munroe had failed to mention.

"Yes," Undertaker confirmed, drawing the single syllable out quaveringly until it hung thickly in the air between them. The giggle that followed it only added to unnerving quality of his words. "Pity. It leaves them in such a terrible state; I can't even remake them as dolls."

The butler _really_ hadn't needed a reminder of Undertaker's moving corpses—the so-called "Bizarre Dolls"—whilst in the middle of a room full of coffins. Truly, it _couldn't possibly_ put him on edge, _at all_. Sarcasm aside, he was on too fixed a schedule to deal with being attacked, at that moment.

"I see," Sebastian murmured, trying to put all the pieces together. The only problem was that he was missing almost the entire puzzle. "And there is _nothing else_ you know?"

"No. Nothing I can tell you at the moment," Undertaker chimed brightly. He looked up briefly from the corpse, silvery hair falling out of his face to reveal his phosphorescent eyes, swirling with secretive mirth, before he straightened up to look for thread. "Keep an eye on the Earl's soul while he's ill, butler. If I'm not mistaken, he'll need it soon enough."

The reaper's tone suggested that he felt even Sebastian couldn't fail to watch a sick child. Affronted that anyone could even _suggest_ he was a poor butler, Sebastian spared him a curt "good evening", turned on his heel, and walked stiffly from the funeral parlor. The door snapped shut behind him, leaving Undertaker to restitch his corpse alone.

Once back out in the freezing night air, the _real_ leg work began. First, he had to look through all of the local obituaries for the last month or so and find all mentions of those who had died of an illness with similar symptoms to those the Earl had. From there, he had to cross-reference each name with hospital, physician, and mortuary records until he had a solid list of potential victims. It wasn't as long as he would have liked it to be, but, by the time his pocket watch declared it was dangerously close to nine, Sebastian was ready to begin questioning the victims' family members. However, due to the lateness of the hour, he was unable to speak with almost anyone. Halfway through his list of names, he'd only made contact with two families. Neither family had had any new information for him.

_How trying_, Sebastian thought to himself. Determined to get what information he could for when his master awoke (he highly doubted the Earl would sit by with knowledge of such a strange illness, whether or not he truly was infected), he cut through an alley, making for the next side street over. _The master_ does _seem to enjoy falling into difficult situations. But what is to happen if there really_ is _no way to reverse the fever? I can't willfully believe _that _is the truth of the matter, but, if it is, what then? There's no way to successfully meet my mandate when an illness is at play. Short of carrying the young master far North and dropping him into the ocean._ The demon amused himself momentarily by imagining the tiny Earl bobbing along in the Arctic waters, spluttering and cursing Sebastian's name. His thoughts then turned shrewd as he decided his master was unfortunate enough, that, instead of it just cooling him down, he would turn hypothermic. _No_, Sebastian added sourly, _he would make certain to drown or freeze himself out of pure spite towards me._ He mentally snorted. _Such a thoughtful child_.

"_Butler…_"

The word was but a sigh on the air, but it stopped Sebastian dead in his tracks and yanked him from his thoughts gracelessly. He could feel eyes on him, watching closely, and an odd feeling was settling over his skin. His senses prickled as if electricity was running through his veins, dancing over his muscles. He knew the feeling very well—it was the way old magic felt, teasing and seductive—and, expecting the worst, he slowly turned toward its point of origin.

They stood at the very edge of the alley he'd departed only a minute or so previously, unmoving as they watched him. They made an odd couple—the woman tall and statuesque in a soft grey nurse's uniform and the man equally tall, but bulky and strangely proportioned in his bland, clerk-like suit—but, in the gloom, their eyes glowed unnaturally, like hot coals in a hearth. It was near impossible to tell from which the strong sensation of magical power was emanating from.

Sebastian was both curious and mildly fascinated as to _why_ two of his kind would bother to follow him. They didn't appear to want a fight, nor did they appear to be protecting their territory (as some demons did rather zealously). Instead, they seemed perfectly content to watch him. Which meant…they wanted something. Demons rarely sought each other out without reason, after all, and so it was the only thing that could make sense in this situation.

The nurse's breath hissed inward in warning at the same moment Sebastian felt the air pressure above him shift. The screaming of a motor filled his ears. Gracefully, Sebastian leapt out of the way just in time to avoid being sliced in two.

"_Oh, Bas-sy!_" a sing-song voice called over the roar of cobblestones being destroyed by a quickly-moving death scythe.

Sebastian's leap landed him on his feet a couple yards away, thankfully untouched. He glanced toward the alleyway, annoyed that the demons within it were now gone, and decided he needed to stop venturing into the city if he was only going to be met by a reaper every time he did so. He turned back to his attacker and exasperatedly sighed, "Hello, Grell."

His eyes were violently assaulted by the sheer brightness of the colour red as the wind caused Grell's scarlet hair and coat to whip violently around the flamboyant reaper.

Grell grinned, showing his pointed teeth, and cooed, "I've been thinking about you _all night_, Sebastian darling, but I never _imagined_ we would be working in the same area tonight! I am just _thrilled to __**death**_." He lowered his death scythe slightly, letting it idle as he looked Sebastian up and down lasciviously. "You see, an _awful_ lot of souls on the To Die list have been _vanishing_ lately. I wonder…you aren't being _naughty_ now, are you…sweet Bassy?"

Still grinning, the reaper pulled his favorite pose in a cheeky gesture of "I love you", revved his saw-like scythe, and attacked.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hello, there! First off, I'd like to extend a HUGE thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, faved, and followed this fic. =3 It truly means the world to me to see that people are enjoying it. Secondly, I forgot to mention this last chapter. I'm referring to Grell in the gender neutral form of "he", not "he" as in "male". The reason for this is that I, personally, think of Grell as female. However, in the manga, I've only ever seen others refer to Grell as "he". Hence, the gender neutral aspect. I just thought I'd mention it here just incase anyone finds me using "he" offensive to Grell. I'm not trying to be; just trying to keep my canons in line. =) I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think. I look forward to seeing ya'll next Monday. ^^


	3. Chapter III: His Butler, Ill Met

**Chapter III:  
>His Butler, Ill Met<strong>

Lady Elizabeth Midford, the youngest child of the Marquess of Midford and Lady Francis Midford, the sister of the deceased Earl Vincent Phantomhive, was _not_ known for calm, well-planned action. In fact, it would be _far_ more accurate to say she was a rash young woman entirely governed by her emotions (as some would say was common in the so-called '_fairer_' sex). That was why, as soon as Mr. Tanaka had called her family home and Lizzie had been informed of her cousin's current condition, she had rushed to his side. She hadn't asked for her parents' permission, she hadn't waited for her maid to escort her, she hadn't even bothered to change out of her house gown and re-curl her hair. Instead, Lizzie had simply grabbed her usual bonnet and cloak and had stormed up to their driver, screeching that, if _he_ didn't take her to the Phantomhive manor, she would take her mother's horse and go by herself. And so the driver had, most hesitantly, taken her.

_Oh, Ciel; you poor dear_. Elizabeth sat at the foot of her betrothed's bed, quite beside herself even now. Mr. Tanaka and Snake hadn't been lying when they had told her Ciel was sleeping off the fever. She'd never seen him sleep so soundly before, and, in such an oversized bed, Ciel had never looked so _small_. It was…surprisingly cute, especially when one considered how much Ciel was determined to be viewed as an adult.

The cuteness was ruined by her cousin's utter lack of movement.

"You'll be quite alright, Ciel. I _know_ you will," Lizzie whispered, clenching her hands in the black silk and pink crepon of her dress. She knew, deep down, that Ciel thought she was emotionally weak and that she was always in his way. Just this once, she wanted to be strong for him. Like she had tried to be when they were attacked aboard the Campania. She wanted to be there for him as he always was for her; she wanted them to be able to protect each other. She _didn't want to __**cry**_.

Against her will, her green eyes burned with unshed tears. Her throat worked, constricting painfully as she futilely wiped at her eyes.

Elizabeth didn't—_no_; she _couldn't_ bear to lose Ciel again. Not now. She remembered, all those years ago, when the Phantomhive estate had been burned to the ground. They had buried both her uncle and her aunt and an empty coffin for her cousin. And Lizzie had cried and cried and cried, not knowing where he was or if he was alive or dead. And so her clothes had turned black, and her mood had turned black, and her thoughts had turned black.

Her _entire world_ had turned _black_.

As black as night or crow's wings.

And then, one excruciatingly long month later, Ciel came back. And all was to be happy and bright and cheerful again…but _that_ never came to pass. Though the boy she could see and touch and speak with _looked_ like Ciel and _knew things_ only Ciel would know, this boy _was not_ Elizabeth's Ciel.

This New Ciel was as mired in black as she had been—as she still was, underneath the bright smile and pretty dresses.

It was troubling and it frightened her. She was well aware that her cousin had always been stubborn and temperamental to the point of being intractable, but his temper had become more fitting of that scoundrel Heathcliff than her playful cousin. His humor had turned as black as Mr. Darcy's and his newfound self-deprecating cynicism put him in leagues with Mr. Rochester. Ciel had gone from her white knight full of warmth and smiles to her anti-hero, as cold as his marble gravestone had been. She truly had never been able to fathom why her betrothed would suddenly act like this. Why he had become this inverted reflection of who he had been before.

And so her world stayed black for a very long time.

_The door clicked open behind her, and Lizzie gasped, dabbing quickly at her eyes with a handkerchief as she turned around. Relief spread through her as she realized it was not Ciel, but his new butler. What was his name, again? Sebastian?_

_"__Pardon me, Lady Elizabeth," the butler bid, noticing her tears and starting to close the door._

_"__N-no, wait!" she blurted, embarrassed beyond belief. Lizzie wiped at the fresh tears pouring down her face, and trying to manage a watery smile. "I'm fine_. Really_. I'm just_ so happy _Ciel's returned to us…" She trailed off, noting the skepticism in the butler's eyes._

_Sebastian stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "If you don't mind me saying so, Lady Elizabeth, for one claiming to be happy…you seem to be very troubled."_

_She looked down at her skirts, her smile fading. She didn't know what to say. Too much emotion was welling up inside, trying to force its way through her constricted throat and burning in her eyes. She realized she was shaking and her legs hurt from sitting on the floor in such an odd manner. She had to look a mess, but she couldn't manage to force herself to stop crying. "It's all _wrong_!" Lizzie sobbed. Now that she'd started, she couldn't stop herself and the words poured out like a flood as she buried her face in her handkerchief. "Ciel was supposed to come back and everything was supposed to be like it was before but it's not! He's not the same! He's—that's _not _Ciel! Ciel would_ never _be cross with me or—or—or cold! Ciel is warm and kind and happy! Not—not_ this_!"_

_Lizzie flung her hand out, pointing to the door behind the silent butler to indicate she meant the boy somewhere outside the room they were in. She cried and cried, the room silent around her, and was startled when, after several long minutes later, she felt gentle hands carefully lower her own from her face._

_"__I understand this must be_ very _difficult for you, my lady," the butler told her, his proprietious voice soothing on her worn nerves. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and added, "May I?" When Lizzie nodded numbly, he, carefully dabbing the tears from her face, continued on: "My young lord has had a trying time as of late. He has witnessed horrors one as young as he should not have knowledge of. Give him time to heal, Lady Elizabeth. He may one day be as he was before, but he needs time. And I can say without false flattery that my master's mood has improved greatly whilst you have been present over his mood this morning."_

_Elizabeth managed a real smile this time. Her eyes were puffy and her nose red as she hiccupped, "R-really? Do you mean it?" She nearly hugged the butler at his answering smile and only _just_ caught herself. "Thank you, S-Sebastian."_

_He helped her to her feet, carefully straightened her dress, and smiled again. "Now then, shall we find the young master?"_

Lizzie was pulled from her thoughts by a soft groan. Ciel murmured something incoherent in his sleep and flopped gracelessly onto his other side. A grumpy frown had settled over his childish features and it suddenly struck Lizzie that her cousin bore a striking resemblance to an annoyed cat when he was displeased. A small giggle managed to escape her throat in a soft huff of sound at the thought. Ciel would be quite cross if he knew what she'd imagined. He always was.

_"__Must I, Elizabeth?" the young Earl drawled boredly, staring at his reflection as if it were a sign of impending doom._

_Lizzie giggled, clapping her hands together in her felicity. She'd known the new Easter suit would be _perfect _for Ciel. It was much more fitted than his usual suits, making him look both older and slimmer, and the miniature hat he wore with it was_ ever _so_ cute.

_"__Oh, Ciel, you're_ adorable_," Lizzie gushed, nearly cooing as she reached up to attach a vibrantly coloured flower to his frock coat's lapel._

_Ciel scowled, gritting his teeth as his eyes sought out the reflection of his butler in the mirror. "Sebastian, fetch my other—"_

_"__My apologies, lord," the butler cut in from his spot near the door, smirking faintly at the scene before him, "guests have already begun to arrive. If you were to change now, you would be very late indeed. Too late to still make a decent impression, young master."_

_"__Damn and bla_—ah_!" he yelped as Lizzie began pulling him toward the door, nearly dragging him behind her._

_"__Let's hurry and meet with mother, Ciel," Lizzie jabbered, leading him out of the dressing room. "You look ever so cute, mother will definitely approve! Oh, and—"_

_By the time they reached the end of the hallway, Ciel had stopped fighting her. It was a lovely holiday indeed._

Lizzie hesitantly reached out to check her cousin's temperature. She was surprised at how warm his forehead was. The heat combined with how damp with sweat his skin was made her almost want to believe Ciel had simply stayed in a hot bath too long, but she knew better than to try and convince herself so. Ciel was worryingly pale, dark circles giving his eyes a sunken appearance though his cheeks were red enough for him to pass as being slapped. Lizzie just wanted him to wake up.

Still sound asleep, he gave another huff of annoyance and proceeded to kick the cocoon of blankets off of himself.

"Oh, _don't_," Lizzie chided, standing up and attempting to smooth the blankets back down over him. It didn't work, though, for Ciel simply kicked the blankets off when Lizzie had finished. Frowning at him, she added in a slightly sharper tone, "Ciel, that's _enough_. You'll only make yourself worse."

Midway through Elizabeth's second attempt to straighten the covers, Ciel seemed to decide he'd had _quite_ enough of blankets and kicked at them again. Lizzie was ready for him this time, though. As soon as he kicked out, she caught ahold of his left leg and pinned it to the bed with as much force as she dared use in an attempt to calm him. Though she wasn't holding him very hard, it seemed to trigger something within her cousin's unconscious mind. He flailed wildly, simultaneously trying to buck her off of him and get away from her.

Lizzie let go of him, but it did nothing for his panic. "Ciel?! Ciel, what's wrong?!"

She clutched at his shoulders, trying to shake him out of it or wake him up. _Anything_, as long as he wasn't struggling anymore. The shaking failed to wake him and, to prevent him from hitting her or hurting himself, hugged him tightly to her body, not letting go even when he tried to push her away.

"_Get out!_" she snapped in the door's direction when it swung open hurriedly. Whoever was in the doorway paused a moment, then left, closing the door behind them. Near panic herself, Lizzie whispered words of comfort into her cousin's soft, dark hair. It didn't appear to help very much but, several long minutes later, Ciel finally stopped thrashing and began to calm despite the fact that he was still shaking.

"Li…zzie?" a soft voice croaked, confused.

Elizabeth pulled back, feeling like she might just cry in relief. "Ciel! You are—"

"…ter…please…," he mumbled groggily, his eyes still closed.

"What—?" Lizzie faltered, noticing a water glass on Ciel's nightstand for the first time. She carefully raised the glass to his lips and tried to help him drink some.

Ciel was asleep again halfway through the first sip.

Breath shaky, Lizzie set the glass down and settled Ciel back into bed as well as she could. She smoothed the covers down and curled up at the end of Ciel's bed. She stared at him with wide green eyes from under her golden hair and tried not to let herself break into pieces. Lizzie glanced at the clock fitfully. _Damn you, Sebastian. You should be _here _where Ciel needs you. Where_ are _you?_

* * *

><p>The saw cut through the air with a deafening peal of sound. Sebastian lurched backwards, out of the death scythe's reach as Grell aimed another wild slash at his head. <em>One would think<em>, the butler mused, _that after all the_ photographs _I allowed him to take, the least he could do is spare the attempts at a "death match" just this once._

Sebastian's back hit a wall and Grell was on him in an instant, driving his death scythe downward with great enthusiasm. Spotting an opening, Sebastian ducked down under the spinning blade and then to his left. Grell attempted to follow with a joyous cackle, and, as soon as he turned, was met with a well-shined shoe planted firmly in his face.

Grell yelped as his head snapped back from the impact. He stumbled in his shiny, fashionable red heels and promptly fell over onto the rain-sodden cobbles beneath them. Grell hit the ground hard and dropped his death scythe with a groan; the weapon skittered away as its engine gradually grew silent.

"What the _hell_ was _that for_?!" Grell raged, near wailing as he rubbed his throbbing nose.

"Now, now; don't _start_ with me," Sebastian chided, pulling his gloves straight. "You attacked first."

"But I was just happy to see you!" the reaper protested as he regained his feet.

"Then perhaps you should try simply saying 'hello'."

Grell grumbled about how rude it was to kick a lady in the face as he went to retrieve his death scythe. The back of his coat was damp and slightly dirty as he straightened up, not pausing in his rambling, and Sebastian was barely able to refrain from sarcastically remarking that he hadn't realized any ladies were present.

"Not that I'm _actually_ thrilled to see you," Sebastian began slowly, expression unchanging from its usual faintly amused detachment, "but what _are_ you doing here?" He paused and, in afterthought, added, "_How_ did you find me?"

"I told you, Bassy; I'm _working_!" Grell beamed as he straightened his red glasses. "I _could_ be persuaded to take a _break_, you know. I've been _such_ a good little Grell and now I'm _all_ stiff. I bet _you _could loosen me up, Bassy. What do you say we try?"

Mind drawing a momentary blank, Sebastian attempted to veer his lost train of thought back on track before it derailed entirely. _Focus. The young master is ill. See what the reaper wants, make sure he won't follow you, and then leave._ "Surely not in this exact area."

"Ah…well, we _could_ always go back—"

"I was referring to your _work_, Grell, _not_ your delusions," the butler cut in bluntly.

Grell's cheer deflated faster than a popped balloon and he pouted, his expression more pathetic than that of a kicked puppy. "Not…not really. No," Grell admitted evasively, rocking on his heels anxiously as he pressed his forefingers together in trepidation. After a moment, his enthusiasm seemed to hit its second wind as, smiling flirtatiously and creeping nearer, he purred, "_Of course_, I can't tell you _exactly_ who I need to reap tonight, my Sebas-chan. A lady such as myself should _never_ give away _all_ of her secrets. Besides, Will would be _so angry_ if he found out I told _you_ about my _assignment_."

Immune to Grell batting his eyes, Sebastian noticed that the red-haired reaper didn't _actually_ seem to mind the thought of getting into trouble with the illustrious William T. Spears. Given that, he decided to press his luck, and, dropping his voice to a more inviting tone, murmured, "_Do_ reconsider, Grell. I was _certain_ we were better acquainted than that. After all, there would be _nothing_ wrong with just a _little slip,_ now would there? It wouldn't be the first time."

The reaper raised a shoulder in a half-shrug and coyly replied, "Oh, I wouldn't know _anything_ about _that_."

_Can I kill him now?_ Sebastian was finished with this; weary of playing games in return for nothing especially when Grell was probably the most clueless person he could hope to get an answer from (well, _almost_, anyway). _Why on Earth am I bothering with this imbecile?_

Sebastian sighed deeply, letting his weariness show through his usual façade as his expression fell into one of grave disappointment. "Very well, then. I have my own duties to attend to. I cannot say it's been a pleasure, but it _has_ been…" He paused for a second, trying to decide on the right word to finish the sentence with. _Unfortunate? Annoying? Vexing?_ "…_interesting_ speaking with you. Good evening to you, Grell."

With that, he stepped around Grell (who looked vaguely as though he had been slapped and then had discovered all of his shoes had just been stolen) and continued in the direction he had been travelling in before he was…diverted. Sebastian mourned the loss of time, now fairly certain he would not be able to speak with anyone else tonight. He also couldn't help but lament the loss of the opportunity to speak with the devils that had been following him. They might have, at the very least, been able to give him a clue about whether or not he should even bother to continue investigating or if it would be far more beneficial to simply stop and return to both the manor and his master. Deep down, however, he knew it didn't really matter what his fellows would have said. He was being driven by some primal, instinctive urge that was _demanding_ he act in his master's stead and that he should do so _now_...

…if only for the sake of their contract. There could be no other reason, could there? It certainly couldn't be something so ridiculously human as actually _caring_…right?

Movement behind him set Sebastian faintly on edge, but he didn't particularly care what Grell was doing as long as it didn't involve him. They both had their own jobs to attend to and it was best they did them separately and thoroughly. And so Sebastian continued heedlessly on. _So busy, so busy_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Lo! A new chapter doth appears! And angst was had by all. =D Sebastian, Lizzie and I all have something in common right now: we're all tired and stressed (and mildly confused)! ^^ Please alleviate some of that by leaving a review. =) (Seriously, guys; this is around the point in a fic where I start deciding which of the on going fics has top priority. So please, please review if you want me to keep with weekly updates!) Hope everyone's doing well. Happy Thanksgiving (later this week)! See you all later. ^^ *waves*


	4. Chapter IIII: His Butler, Teamwork

**Chapter IIII:  
>His Butler, Teamwork<strong>

Sebastian had barely gotten a couple of meters down the street before something heavy crashed into him. He barely had time to register that the "something" had bright red hair before they both tumbled to the ground. They hit the cobblestone street hard and, when the general confusion of unexpectedly falling began to subside, Sebastian found himself staring at a leaden sky full of miasmic clouds. Slowly, Sebastian lowered his gaze to frown at Grell, who had somehow managed to both pin down his arms _and_ seat himself on Sebastian's lap. (Well, perhaps it would have been a mite more accurate to say Grell had _actually_ seated himself directly over Sebastian's groin, but _really_…why would the butler want to be reminded of that fact?)

"_What __**are**_ you _doing_, Grell?" Sebastian hissed with enough venom to shame a serpent.

Green eyes glowing even more so than usual, Grell stared at him flirtatiously from under his thick lashes. He carefully, thoughtfully, bit his lipstick-cloaked lower lip as he released one of Sebastian's arms and, with teasing slowness, tugged at his belt buckle just enough for the butler to feel his belt momentarily cut into his sides.

A snarl of anger was welling up in the back of Sebastian's throat. The more his rage grew, the less of a tether he had on himself, and he was acutely aware that his teeth (now resembling fangs more than normal teeth) were cutting sharply into his lower lip, drawing the smallest trace of blood. He expected Grell to flinch away as his eyes shifted from their usual tea brown to deep garnet, his slitted pupils thinning as he glared, but Grell did _not_.

Sebastian was just about to give Grell a two-second warning about his impending demise when, playfully tapping his nails against the buckle, the reaper chirped, "Do you know what I _love_ about you, Bassy? You always play so _hard_ to get! _Oh_, it's _so_ much _fun!_" Grell closed his eyes, smiling contentedly as though trying to cement the moment into his memory forevermore. A couple seconds or so later, he opened his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "If you _really_ wanted to know what my assignment is, I _suppose_ I could tell you. It's all so _secretive_, but not very _exciting_, if you know what I mean, Sebastian darling. I'm not _really_ progressing very far _anyway_."

Grell shifted his hips slightly in an effort to get more comfortable and received an annoyed growl of warning in response. Pouting, the red head moved to sit on Sebastian's waist, if only so it would be harder for his dear Bassy to remove him from his person.

"You see, William's been _dreadfully dull_ lately; giving _everyone_ more overtime than should even be _legal_! If he weren't getting it _too_, I'd—ah, _never mind_," Grell amended, realizing that he was being glared at once more and that he had only until Sebastian's patience with him ran out (again) before he would probably be beaten within an inch of his life. Worried for his face, he backtracked slightly and continued: "There has been a…strangely _large_ number of humans that have been getting _sick_ and _dying_ lately. The _funny_ thing is: _our records don't show what illness is killing them_. It's doing _all sorts_ of _ter-ri-ble_ things to our record books, but also _nothing at all_." Grell leaned in close, batting his eyes sweetly. "Do you want to know what the most _fascinating_ part of this little act is, Sebastian _darling_?"

Sebastian resisted the urge to sink his teeth into Grell's pale throat so as to be rid of him as the reaper's words began to slowly sink in. "Go on."

The reaper leaned in further, his scarlet hair brushing lightly against Sebastian's face and his lips ghosting against the shell of his right ear as Grell, with mischievous fascination, whispered, "Their cinematic records are _blank_."

Sebastian's breath hissed in sharply as Grell sat up again, his surprise less to do with Grell's hands trailing down his chest and more to do with the words he was hearing. "Then their souls are—"

"_Missing_," Grell finished for him, cutting him off. His morbid cheer evaporated as he sulkily ranted, "It's _so_ annoying! I'm getting run _all over_ this city for _nothing_! It's _unseemly_ for a lady to be worked like this without a _reward_! I'll get _callouses_ at this rate!" He huffed in displeasure and wrapped his arms around Sebastian's torso, cuddling him tightly for comfort. "That's why I _really_ hoped you had _something_ to do with this, Bassy, my love. Do you? _Oh_, say _yes_! If you do, I get to _punish_ you for being _naughty_!"

"_Please_ stop, Grell. I find your words…_unpleasant_ and revolting." Sebastian waved Grell's hand away from his tie as the reaper playfully pulled at it, and sat up, causing Grell to roll off of him.

Though Grell was grumbling and whining, Sebastian barely heard him. Missing souls and people dying of a strange illness…Grell was correct; it _was_ strange. It also appeared that he was right to be concerned for his master—both incidents had to be connected by more than coincidence, after all. He knew from experience that both demons and reapers could _easily_ take a soul, but he had never heard of either species being able to kill through illness. Even if said illness still seemed vaguely familiar to him.

Unbidden, his thoughts returned to the two devils he'd seen not long ago that very evening. _Could one of_ them _possibly be devouring the souls before a reaper can harvest them?_ It wasn't impossible (though he would have expected the victims to be in rather more of a mess, if only because it was _rare_ that demons were very _neat_ with their meals), but it begged the question of _why _they would be following him if that _were_ the case. To see if he could be trusted, perhaps? Or maybe his previous judgment that they didn't want to fight was wrong and they had _actually_ intended on silencing him? Sebastian doubted that idea entirely. After all, if that was their real intention, then _why_ had the female warned him, subtle as that warning had been, of Grell's attack? _What about the male, though?_ He had been as expressionless and remote as an iceberg on the sea, and, though it meant nothing one way or another, it _did_ make Sebastian rather curious. What had his agenda been? If Sebastian over-looked all probability of either demon taking the souls, then it left him to ponder if they had _actuall_y intended on warning him.

Plausible, but unlikely.

He tried to consider the possibility of the soul thief being a rogue reaper, a so-called "deserter", but almost immediately dismissed the idea. He doubted most had the power it would take to collect so many souls both quickly and while thoroughly hidden. Those that _might_ have enough power seemed unlikely to want to meddle in the affairs of mortals. Then again, Grell had been all too eager to help Madam Red with _her_ affairs…maybe it was more common than Sebastian had previously considered.

Still, despite this possibility, his mind returned to thoughts of a demon being involved. It just seemed too perfect a match to ignore. Of course, on the flip side, it could also be someone who knew exactly how a demon would react to an unguarded soul and was using it and the mystery illness as a cover for their real aims. The sheer amount of possible perpetrators increased exponentially with that observation and made it worthless for them to look into everyone. They needed to narrow down the possibilities and such further first.

Sebastian paused. _"We"? Since_ when _did this become a_ "we" _situation?_ Annoyed with his thoughts for betraying him, Sebastian got swiftly to his feet, ignoring the reaper still clinging to him. Not wanting to fall off, Grell grabbed onto Sebastian's coat as he wrapped his long legs around the butler's waist and held on with all his might. Their eyes met briefly—Sebastian unnerved and Grell worriedly surprised—before Grell lost his grip and dropped to the ground like a stone, letting out a _most_ unladylike curse upon impact.

The butler cocked an eyebrow at him but, wisely, refrained from commenting. Unsympathetic to Grell's distress, he said, "Moving on, it seems we are investigating the same occurrence. How very…_remarkable_."

Grell, who had been sulkily glowering at Sebastian for ignoring him and not coming to his aid, immediately brightened and bounded to his feet. "Oh, _Bassy_, let's _work together_, then! United by the threads of **_love_**!"

Sebastian instantly regretted saying anything. While he _had_ been considering proposing something similar—the investigating together part, _not_ the…_other_ bit—it was now even more unappealing an option to him.

"Say we can work together, Bassy. Please, please, please, _please_. We would work _so well_ together; a proper symphony's duet! I'm _very _capable, you know—I'm not deadly efficient for nothing—so you wouldn't _need_ to do it alone. I can show you just how _good_ I am, and—"

"_Very well_," Sebastian sighed exasperatedly, wanting Grell to be quiet above all else. "_However_. We will need to set a few…_ground rules_ first."

Grell's expression grew wary. "What _kind_ of rules?"

"First, you will act professionally. This is _business_, not pleasure, and, as such, you _should_ act decorously. You will refrain from acting rashly or manhandling me. You will keep quiet and reserved as a _proper lady_ ought to. And, secondly,_ I_ will take point. We will not act without my say, am I clear? Keep to these rules, and I will permit you to accompany me for the evening. If you _cannot_ follow these rules, then please, do hurry back home and allow me to continue on in _peace_." Sebastian flashed him a bright, disarming smile that was more dangerous than the cutlery he usually used in a fight.

The scarlet-cloaked reaper stood there a moment, frowning with thought and disappointment. Then his eyes suddenly brightened and his smile returned, something secretive and impish hiding behind his expression. "_Oh, __**yes**__, Bassy!_" Grell purred, attempting to hug Sebastian and failing to notice Sebastian was holding him at arm's length with but a single hand. "I'll follow your rules and we will work together as perfectly as any couple _ever _could! My body will be you sword and shield on this most daring of quests, Sebastian darling; I will commit myself to the flames of passion in your hon—"

"Grell," Sebastian cut in, stone-faced and flat toned, "_what _did I _just_ say?"

Grell stopped trying to hug him and twirled a strand of his long hair, blushing sheepishly as he let out a nervous giggle. "So sorry, Sebas-chan…_I forgot_."

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Sebastian was both surprised and, admittedly, unsurprised by how very slow the investigation went with Grell at his side. It wasn't so much that Grell was grating on his nerves (though he <em>was<em> to a degree), it was more to do with the level of tedium involved. Almost unanimously, they had agreed it was too late to talk to families with small children, and so they turned their attention to those on Sebastian's list who were spouses, close friends, and business partners of the deceased. Though they had much better luck with that approach, at every home he felt like a record on repeat as he went through the exact same discussion with each house hold: "_Good evening, my name is Sebastian Michaelis. I am investigating the death of your acquaintance. Would you kindly inform me of the circumstances around their death, as well as their symptoms? I see; were there no signs of infection beforehand? Did they have any interaction with any ailing persons shortly before they fell ill? That looks to be everything, then. A doctor? Goodness no, I am simply one hell of a butler. Good evening to you._"

And then, at the next house, it would be the same thing. And Grell would be forced to sit outside on the front stoop, peering into the houses through thick-glassed windows to see what was happening while he waited for Sebastian to return and fill him in on the news. Or the lack thereof of news. Once Grell had been informed and had had his say, they would continue on; travelling via rooftops in darkened areas of town while keeping to a sedate pace on the streets when in brighter areas. Sebastian could tell Grell was struggling to keep his end of the bargain as they went on; the reaper occasionally began to reach for him or would start on an inconsequential tirade about some inane thing only to remember the terms of working together before Grell would fall silent and pout until the next time the urge struck him and the process was repeated. However, Sebastian was still pleased that Grell was at least _trying_ to work with him properly and it was for this reason that, walking down a surprisingly well lit back street in the East End, Sebastian didn't stick a butter knife through Grell's eye for holding tightly onto his arm. Still, the "fragile, innocent lady" act seemed rather…overdone in Sebastian's opinion, especially when considering how bloodthirsty the reaper truly was.

The moon was beginning to peek through the clouds as they approached the bottom of their list, glinting like a hidden blade in the dark. They had just three names left for them to investigate that evening and Sebastian was starting to get concerned about the time—the later it got, the more his concern that something might have gone wrong with the young master was. He tried to dispel it with concentrating on the task at hand, but it was hard to focus on walking when the only things he could focus on were questions of the Earl of Phantomhive's health and the fact that Grell was resting his head on his shoulder. He could have told Grell to stop, but he knew it was useless. Grell's head would be right back on his shoulder a second after Sebastian removed it.

A shrill laugh broke through his thoughts from up the street. "—terr'ble of ye, ye biddy."

"Ha! Mayhaps! Bu' if-I 'ave to lissen to 'im snarkin' off 'bout another of 'is tarts, it'll be for the las' time, I'll 'ave you know!"

As they walked, the butler and the reaper noticed a pair of tittering young scullery maids sitting outside one of the rare big houses in the area with a large bin full of laundry and soapy water. Both women were too caught up in gossiping to realize they were being watched as both men approached.

"But ye know whot I 'eard?" the first maid hissed between snickers. "'E says he can get hisself a _la-dy's maid_. Never 'eard such twaddle meself, 'fore."

The second clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "_Roight_. No proper cunny'd ever let no pig like 'im get in 'er knickers. Done lost 'is marbles now, ye 'ear me?"

Both women were reduced to giggles more appropriate of school girls than grown women. Sebastian felt the urge to shake his head in disapproval, even as Grell let out the faintest huff of laughter. How _very _childish…did they even _care_ what one might think of their household if they were overheard? Obviously not.

The women fell silent as Sebastian and Grell passed them without acknowledging either maid. Apparently they found amusement in a man with such long red hair clinging to the arm of such an upright and proper butler for, before both men had even gotten ten feet away, the maids had fallen back into their giggling fit.

Sebastian sighed, suddenly understanding the situation and spotting a potential problem. "Grell?"

"Yes, Bassy my love? Did you _want __**something**_?"

The butler closed his eyes briefly to keep his exasperation from rising. "I thought you should know: _when_ we are arrested for indecent and immoral behavior, I plan to let _you_ explain the situation to the police."

Grell froze, lost, and absently let go of Sebastian's arm. "_Eh?_"

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, not halting in his walking. "You _are_ aware that intimate relations between men are _illegal_, are you not?"

The reaper's eye twitched and his hands spasmed. "I—I—" He let out a strangled cry of woe as he dashed after the butler. "B-but _Bassy!_"

Sebastian let Grell rant on for a long while as the reaper lamented how unfair it all was. He knew he shouldn't have actively provoked Grell, he should have just left it at the comment about the police, but it was just too easy. The red head just looked so thoroughly _heartbroken_ it almost made the endless whining worth it. By the time they reached their next destination, Sebastian had completely tuned out Grell, once again, and Grell had begun sulking in annoyed silence—no doubt planning how to get around the entire "illegal" deal.

The lights in the house before them were still on and so they approached the front door without hesitation. Grell flung himself in front of the door before Sebastian could knock on it.

"What _are _you doing?"

Grell put his hands on his hips resolutely and snapped, "I'm going in with you." It wasn't until Sebastian's eyes narrowed dangerously that Grell added, "I am _far_ too fragile of a lady to sit outside all night any longer. This is such a _terrible_ little area, what if someone _took advantage_ of a poor girl like myself?"

Sebastian gritted his teeth, annoyed. He _highly _doubted anyone could take advantage of Grell. However, if he argued with him, they would be on this stoop until the end of days. Grell was sworn to silence, however, before Sebastian would even acknowledge that Grell would be coming inside with him. It was only then that Grell stepped aside and let Sebastian knock politely on the tiny, ramshackle house's front door.

They were greeted by a frail-looking woman black crape. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and she appeared extremely surprised to find two reasonably well-off men standing at her door at such a late hour.

"Can…can I help you?" the woman inquired, her voice shaky and untrusting.

"Good evening. Mrs. Tibbins, isn't it?" Sebastian greeted with one of his more disarmingly polite smiles. He couldn't blame her for not trusting them; this was not a region of the city for trusting strangers in the middle of the night.

"I am she."

"Wonderful. I am Sebastian Michaelis, and my…counterpart here is Grell Sutcliff. May we come in? We had a few questions for you about your late husband's death."

Martha Tibbins stared between them for a long minute, clearly trying to evaluate the manner of men they were. She seemed rather apprehensive about Grell, if her expression was any indicator, but Sebastian's charm seemed to be assuaging most of her worry and she stepped aside to let them inside.

"I don't know what I will be able to tell you that I haven't already told the physicians," Mrs. Tibbins explained as she led them to the kitchen and began preparing tea.

"Oh, you _poor dear_," Grell simpered sympathetically. "You must be feeling _dreadful_. I can only imagine the horror of losing your beloved."

Mrs. Tibbins' eyes widened in surprise, as though she had expected Grell to sneer at her instead, and Sebastian used the momentary drop in her guard, with no shortage of false sympathy, to add, "We would like to look into curing those who are suffering with the same affliction your husband was overcome with. Anything you can tell us will be of great help."

The woman sniffled slightly, going to bring cups down from a cabinet with shaking hands as Grell and Sebastian settled into seats around the kitchen table.

"I—I don't know what happened to him," she admitted, refusing to look toward them. "Edmund brought Rufus home one day last week, saying he looked rather peaky. We thought tea and a hearty lunch might revive him a bit, but…Rufus collapsed shortly afterward. Poor thing; I've never seen Edmund in such a fright. He stayed up with Rufus all night after the physician said to let Rufus rest."

"Pardon my interruption, but…who would this Edmund be?" Sebastian inquired, making notes on his list as Mrs. Tibbins added boiling water to her tea pot.

"Edmund Liddel," she clarified. "He is…I mean, _was_ my husband's assistant at the shop. Rufus was a milliner; he hired Edmund six months or so ago to manage the register and the books. They…were rather attached, fast friends one might say. But I haven't seen Edmund since Rufus died. He just…vanished."

"Vanished?" Sebastian echoed, exchanging glances with Grell. Perhaps this _was_ unrelated, after all. It was entirely possible Liddel had simply gotten close to Rufus Tibbins in order to have access to the shop's books and account.

Their thoughts must have been written on their faces, for Mrs. Tibbins looked quite aghast as she set their tea down before them. "No, no! Edmund had _nothing_ to do with Rufus' death. Edmund adored Rufus, as surely as one would a relative. You'd not find closer friends in all of London; anything Rufus needed Edmund got done, almost like magic."

Sebastian frowned slightly, intrigued by her words. "Like magic, you say?" He went silent, and then, remembering himself, continued on: "That aside, can you remember any details about your husband's health prior to his death?"

Mrs. Tibbins sipped her tea, her hands still shaking faintly as she thought. "Well…not immediately before. You see, six months ago, a man attacked my husband and our child on their way home from Rufus' shop. My husband was…gravely injured."

"And your child?" Grell inquired with interest.

"D-dead," she bit out. She drew a shaking breath in and pulled herself back together enough to add, "Rufus had a lot of trouble managing tasks after that—which is why he hired Edmund—but he seemed to be getting better recently. He managed so much more than before. He certainly never complained about feeling ill before he collapsed."

"And none you know are ill?" Sebastian pressed.

"Not to my knowledge. Illness is so common in this area, though…."

"I see." The demon offered Mrs. Tibbins a kindly, understanding smile as Grell finished his sweet tea. "Thank you, madam, for your help. We will endeavor to put this information to good use in our investigation. I believe I can speak for both Mr. Sutcliff and myself when I say we offer our condolences for _both_ of your recent losses."

Mrs. Tibbins nodded numbly, blinking back tears from her eyes with little success.

"We'll show ourselves out, ma'am," the butler concluded, replacing his list and notes into his coat pocket.

He and Grell retraced their steps out of the house and, as soon as the door was closed behind them, Grell cooed, "You're _quite_ the liar, _aren't you_, Bassy?"

"I haven't the _slightest_ idea what you mean, Grell. I _never_ lie."

Grell chuckled, following as Sebastian jumped to the nearest rooftop. The moon had vanished while they were inside and the clouds were once more beginning to spit with rain. "Oh, don't play _coy_, Sebastian darling. You were positively a _prince_ to that poor, _poor_ woman. You mean to say you _actually_ meant everything you said?"

"Of course I did. I meant my words because they were central to our investigation," Sebastian replied truthfully.

"You _are_ heartless, aren't you? Well done, Bassy." Grell's grin looked feral in the darkness.

Sebastian flashed him a winning smile. "Naturally, I—"

Red eyes in the dark.

"_Down_, Grell!" A knife was in his hands and thrown before he had a chance to think and before Grell had even fully dropped to the rooftop beneath them.

A pale hand shot out and caught the knife just before impact. Directly behind where Grell had been previously standing now stood a figure shrouded in a plain black cloak. As Grell, slipping and sliding on the rain-slick roof tiles, managed to inch toward Sebastian, the figure casually inspected the knife that had just been thrown at it. They clicked their tongue, seemingly satisfied, and tossed it carelessly back toward the butler.

"And just _who the __**hell**_ are _you_?!" Grell fumed, regaining his feet unsteadily.

"_Hell?_" the figure echoed in a mellifluous voice, slowly lowering their hood to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties with icy blond hair. Sebastian recognized her dove gray nurse's uniform immediately. "What a curious sense of humor your companion has, Sebastian Michaelis. Almost as curious as your choosing to associate with him." She gave them both a humorless smile, her wine-coloured eyes softening slightly. "I am Ms. Lydia Fisher, nurse to the Porter family. I believe it's time we had a small chat."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Dun-dun-dun! A possible lead has appeared! Aaaaand Sebby's regretting this team up, already, but I'm sure he's having more fun that he's letting on. ;) Quick history lesson: Sebastian's joke about having Grell speak with the police in the event of them being arrested was a referral to the fact that, after 1533, homosexual relationships were illegal in the UK. In 1861 this act was repealed just enough so that it was no longer punishable by death for two men to become involved, _but_ it was still illegal and anyone caught in violation was subject to imprisonment and/or hard labor. Gay relationships were decriminalized between 1967 and 1982. To be fair, Sebastian's not so much concerned with the police as how such an arrest would impact the Phantomhive name...figures. (Though I doubt he'd let himself be arrested in the first place.) Anywhozzles. I'm gonna go get some rest. Cheers until next week. Thanks to everyone who has shown support for this fic, don't forget to review if you want weekly updates to continue. =) *waves*


	5. Chpt V: His Butler, Waiting In The Wings

**Chapter V:  
>His Butler, Waiting In The Wings<strong>

Lydia led them over rooftops as agilely as if she were a bird fluttering between branches. She had refused to speak with them where they were, claiming it was unsafe, and had all-but ordered both Grell and Sebastian to follow her. Though neither of them were pleased with the directive, Sebastian, at least, had the decorum to be graceful about it. Grell, on the other hand, did _not_.

"Bassy?" Grell snapped as they found themselves landing upon yet another roof. "_Why_ are we following this _little witch_?" When Sebastian neglected to answer, the reaper added, "_Who_ does she think she is, anyway?! Ordering people like _us _around!"

Sebastian paused, bringing a gloved finger to his lips thoughtfully. "To be perfectly frank, I am not _entirely_ certain who she is. I have seen _very_ few of my own kind since entering into my master's service," he admitted at Grell's aghast expression. "_However,_ something about her seems _familiar_. I am quite possibly wrong, but I _believe_ she is the Echidna."

Grell blinked blankly at him. "The _what_?"

"The Echidna," Sebastian repeated, amused. "The so-called 'mother of all monsters', though that's hardly the truth. No, the _real_ Echidna, the basis of the legend, was merely very powerful and so a fantastical story was created around her." He frowned. "She was exiled some time ago."

"Enough talking; keep up," Lydia sharply called, apparently short on patience.

The reaper hurried to do just that as Sebastian once again sprang into motion. "All _that_ aside, _what_ does one have to _do_ to be _shunned_ by _demons_?"

He received only a wry smile in return.

Lydia halted them on the roof across from a row of flats in various states of disrepair. The roofs of several flats were falling in and the brick façade was caked with a thick layer of soot. Smoke choked the air, despite the meager rain, and the wind was heavy with the scent of factories and coal smoke. The air was so thick that the entire area felt blanketed with some dark, oppressive energy.

The demoness's skirts gently wavered around her ankles, the soft gray fabric slowly becoming stained with dirty rain water. She didn't seem to mind as she gazed at them gravely. "You are investigating the fevers in London. You know the symptoms, but not the cause. Is this correct?"

"Indeed it is," Sebastian confirmed, watching the blond woman carefully. "However did you guess?"

"I know many things, Michaelis," Lydia said quietly. "But those are trivial and unimportant. Come along and do please be quiet."

Lydia dropped down from the roof, landing lightly, and made her way toward the best kept flat before them (though it was still so old it seemed to barely be standing). The other two followed; Grell grumbling in annoyance all the while. They were led into a home that seemed to scream of a lack of money. Everything was clean and organized, but the furniture was worn and the chairs before the flickering fireplace were threadbare. Smoke hung in the air, giving the shadow-bathed room a furtherly hazy appearance. A pair of mice squeaked in the corner, making Grell jump. Lydia made a "shh" gesture in reply and Grell's expression twisted to somewhere between disgust and irritation.

They were led up a rickety flight of creaking, half-rotted stairs to a gloomy second story. The door to their immediate right was closed and the door across from it was cracked open just enough to reveal the shadowy silhouettes of a small gaggle of sleeping children divided evenly between two small beds.

Sebastian couldn't help but wonder why they were here. Lydia was powerful, yes, but her magical aura felt rather weak—as though she hadn't bothered to…_eat_ in a while. Clearly, she wasn't stealing souls. And he doubted she could know who was doing it, either. With such little energy, she probably wouldn't last long in any sort of fight. But there was also the matter of the illness—which, admittedly, concerned him the most. If Lydia was playing a nurse, she probably had more interaction with physicians and the medical world than he or Grell did and so might know something. But why bring them so far out of the way to speak?

"This place is a _firetrap_," Grell complained under his breath. "_Why_ are we even—"

In a flash, Lydia had Grell pushed up against the wall, her mouth drawn in a furious snarl that turned her cold beauty feral. And Sebastian realized he'd been an idiot for believing her aura was so weak. It had flared up now, pushing magical energy at them with the speed and force of an oncoming train.

"_One more word_, reaper," she snapped in a whisper. "_One_ more word and I'll have your pretty little head on my _mantel_. _Do you __**hear**__ me, child?_"

Grell stared at her with wide green eyes and let out a strangled sort of mewl before squeaking, "_You_ think _I'm_ pretty?"

After a blank pause, Lydia's expression cleared and she let out a huff of humorless laughter. She released Grell, who nearly crumpled to the floor, and turned on her heel to continue down the hall.

Grell sent Sebastian an accusing look and the demon attempted to keep his smirk to himself. "_Don't_ give me that look, Grell. _You_ provoked her."

"Oh, _shut up_, Bassy," Grell sulked and immediately latched onto Sebastian's arm for comfort's sake.

Lydia led them into the last room in the hall, a nursery, and closed the door behind them. The room beyond was as dimly lit as the living room had been, giving the assorted dolls and toys a somewhat haunted look to them. The eeriness distracted both the butler and the reaper well enough that they almost failed to notice the child asleep in a tiny, rickety bed. By human standards, he was probably cute with his round features and softly curling hair, but all Sebastian noticed about the child was that he was terribly ill. Ill in the same manner that his own master was.

"Oh, look!" Grell commented, looking down at an overstuffed red notebook he'd pulled from his coat pocket. Interested, he looked between the photograph attached to the list and the child. "Thomas Porter, age four…scheduled to die soon, too. Isn't that strange?"

Sebastian, personally, didn't think he would find anything strange again after tonight and decided not to comment. After all, the real question was: was the child dying from having his soul devoured or was it because of their mystery illness?

"My master grew ill ten days ago," Lydia informed them. She had seated herself on the floor beside the bed and, with a mother's tenderness, was sponging the boy's face with a damp towel. "I knew he was meant to die soon, but…it's a pity it had to be this way."

"This way?" Grell inquired, lost. He hadn't looked up from his book, apparently reading something with great interest that, from this angle, Sebastian was unable to see.

When Lydia only nodded once in reply, Sebastian added, "Why did you say we must speak here? Why not on the street?"

"I was unsure if you were being followed or not. I…felt something earlier, when Al and myself were trying to find a moment to speak with you," Lydia replied quietly, though she had to know neither of them knew who the so-called 'Al' was. "Al never returned from looking into what it might be, so I assumed there would be trouble. Of course, it's entirely possible he just went back to his mistress, but I didn't want to take any chances. As soon as we're done here, you _need_ to return to your own master, Michaelis."

"Oh? And why might that be?"

"Several of _us_ have been meeting in underground parlors and such lately, passing around what news we can. Gossiping, I suppose you might say. Three weeks ago, I started to hear a curious rumor that a couple demon's masters' acquaintances had fallen strangely ill. And then it was the masters, instead. I do not know who or what is causing this, but they are targeting us through our contracts."

She didn't have to say any more, Sebastian already understood. If they couldn't create a contract without losing the human side of it, then they would begin to starve. Some distant part of his mind wondered what would happen if a demon never fed. He knew some abstained from taking souls at all, as a test of self-control, while others, like himself, were simply choosy over which souls they took. But something had to happen to them, right? Otherwise…why did they bother to take souls in the first place? Moreover, it didn't make sense why someone would want to block them from making contracts with humans.

Over the centuries, reapers had always despised demons for taking a soul instead of letting it be collected as the reapers felt it ought to be. Demons, in turn, found reapers to usually be a pest when it came to collecting souls themselves. It made sense that a reaper might target demons to keep them from taking more souls, but it stilled begged the question of where the souls were going. Into the ether? It didn't make any logical sense to break a contract just to let a soul vanish so no one could have it. On the other end of the spectrum, there were some demons who enjoyed letting others get close to their human masters before snatching the soul out from under the contracted demon. They played it like a game, being quick and sly so as to avoid being caught and possibly killed by the one they'd stolen from. There was a possibility that several demons working together might attempt something so big, but…demons didn't work well together for long. Still, only three weeks had passed since the outbreak had begun; that wasn't long at all. Sebastian made sure to make a mental note of both possibilities for when he spoke with his own master about everything that was currently happening. They were going to need to consider every possibility.

He didn't want to concentrate on the wave of paranoia that was lapping against the back of his thoughts incessantly. He'd only just kept the Earl's soul safe from one demon who wanted to steal it out from under him and now _someone else_ was trying to steal it? He refused to allow it to happen. He had not worked so long and so tirelessly just to let Ciel Phantomhive's soul slip out from under his fingers because _someone_ was being a greedy bastard and the Earl was being indecisive.

In the time he had been thinking, Grell had asked Lydia several questions, but Sebastian had missed both the answers and the questions. It wasn't until Grell stretched and put his book away that Sebastian returned to reality.

"Well,_ I_ have all the information I need to make _my_ report," Grell announced with a yawn.

Sebastian ignored him, exchanging a long look with Lydia. It was as though they were in the midst of a very important, utterly silent conversation, and, at the end, Lydia spared him a tiny nod.

"Word _cannot_ get out about this, you know that. Keep it secret. I will contact you, should I find any new information. Keep your master's soul close, Michaelis." She stared at both the reaper and the butler somberly for a moment before her expression hardened. "Now _get out_."

They did as bid before Lydia could exorcise them by force, exchanging the warm, smoky interior of the house for the wintery night air. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Grell flung his arms around Sebastian.

"Well, Bassy, it's been dear, and you _really are_ a prince, but William will be so _angry_ if I don't file this report—he might try to have me _demoted_ again—so I simply _must_ leave you for now. Try not to miss me _too_ much, Sebastian darling. Perhaps when we next meet we can have dinner followed by the most exquisitely passionate fight to the death anyone has _ever_ had! But for now, good night, my love!" He planted a quick kiss on the stunned demon's cheek and ran off into the night, leaving Sebastian to wonder what just happened to him and why he felt violated all over again.

_It's time to return to the master_, he told himself, trying to forget what had just happened by checking the time on his pocket watch. He needed to make sure everything was as he left it—that Bard hadn't blown up the entire house, that Mey-Rin hadn't broken anything too important, and that the master's soul was still intact. It was pointless to dwell here much longer.

Sebastian had just started back down the street when something on a nearby roof caught his eye and he froze. He stood there until a cloud moved aside, showing that the thing he had noticed was only a strangely shaped chimney stack. How odd, though…it had looked like a person. He committed it to memory, not wanting to just leave it at the dark playing tricks on him, and began the journey back home.

* * *

><p><em>That <em>had been a close call. He had _very_ nearly been seen and that would have just led to more trouble than it was worth. If Sebastian had realized he was watching him, the other devil would never listen to reason that it was curiosity and not something more nefarious. In fact, Sebastian would probably think he was the one killing all those people. Which was utterly senseless. He liked risk and he loved to play with fire, but he wasn't an idiot. He wanted heat and the way it wrapped sensually around him, not to be burned.

He disembarked from his perch, darting over roofs until he reached a church. He scaled his way up to the top of the bell tower and crouched down to clear his head. Something was wrong. Pretending to be human, he'd been making sure things like breathing and his pulse were suitable (things he didn't have to worry about in his natural state), but currently they were all wrong. His pulse thudded unevenly in his ears and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. His head ached more and more with every throb of his pseudo-heart and he closed his eyes, removing his glasses to clean them as he centered himself. Demons didn't get sick, demons didn't stay injured long, and demons didn't have to worry about something like exertion actually tiring them. But it was affecting him now and…it was strange. Concerning. And, for someone who was utterly unphased by the world, _that_ was saying something.

He replaced his glasses and opened his amber eyes, scowling when he realized his own stalker had caught up to him. It was a raven; bigger than any raven had ever naturally been, its body was plump, its plumage glossy and sleek as obsidian, and its beak cruel and sharp. It stared at him with unnatural eyes, glowing softly scarlet in the gloomy night.

"Very well; what do you want?" he sighed, holding his white-gloved hand out. As it alighted to his palm, he was tempted to break its neck—it would only take a single twist—or, perhaps, he could crush it in his hands. He did neither, though, and it continued to stare at him observantly.

The bird cocked its head slightly, looking from the breast pocket of the demon's suit and back up to his face.

"Yes; that is not for you," he told the bird warningly, knowing it wanted the ring secreted away within his pocket.

The raven clicked its beak disapprovingly several times. It looked from the pocket back to the demon's face and then squawked once, now looking off into the distance.

"No," he murmured, frowning at it. Something was getting lost in translation—as often happened when only half of a conversation's participants were speaking—and he was unsure what it wanted beyond the ring.

The bird gave him a look that could only be described at scathing. It nipped at his hand, drawing blood through his glove, and dug its talons deeply into his wrist. He frowned at the creature, not appreciating having his blood spilt just because the bird couldn't bother to take on a form that could actually speak to him. As the raven flew off, it cawed loudly, echoing in the distance. It almost sounded eerily like the bird was chanting his name. _Craw, craw, craw. Claude, Claude, Claude_.

He stood there a moment longer, waiting until he'd regained his equilibrium, and then straightened his coat.

"And now, master, let us return before the weather breaks once more." He dropped from the tower and vanished from sight as London swallowed him up again, like all of the city's other nightmares.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> So now Sebby has two (well, potentially three suspects if you count the mysterious Al...and I always count my Al ;)) suspects to worry about...whatever shall happen? Will Sebby save Ciel? What is going on with Claude? What's Lydia's deal? No clue. Well, I mean, I have a vague idea where this is going, but you guys? You'll just have to wait and see. ;) Oh! Two things before I run off: if you see me state that the current season is autumn, please PM me; it's supposed to be winter. For some reason I flip-flopped a lot on that. Also, this fic will be posted in arcs. What does that mean? Well, an arc is basically a grouping of chapters that are focused around a certain character/plot device and I also have an interlude (a chapter that deviates from the others in some manner, be it writing style or character) in each arc to...round it out. At the end of each arc, there'll be a one week break where I don't post, and then I'll begin posting the next chapter (still in this fic). I know it sounds confusing, but bear with me, okay? Just trying to warn you that, after next chapter, there'll be a week long break before the next. Thank you for all the support thus far! Please review and let me know how you feel about this chappie. Hugs! ^^

* * *

><p><strong>Anon. Review Replies:<strong>

_James Birdsong:_ Thank you! I'm glad to hear you've enjoyed them. =)


	6. Chpt VI: Interlude: His Demon, Pondering

**Chapter VI:  
>An Interlude: His Demon, Pondering<strong>

Taking care of someone day after day, year after year, was an arduous task. The same sort of tedium day in and day out, the ridiculously high expectations placed upon your shoulders; it was a thankless job even if you happened to receive any praise. However, despite the demanding nature of the job itself, the basics—the _rules_—were fairly simple to learn. First, one had to know the person being taken care of. No, not the happy knowings of a friend, but truly _know_ them. Their likes and dislikes, what they desired and what they hated beyond measure, how they reacted to various situations, their subtleties, the differences in their silences and the meanings behind their words. It wasn't just about making the perfect meal or keeping the house tidy. It was about keeping _them_ well.

Secondly, one had to put their own needs last. It didn't matter if the one they were caring for was simply tired or if they were bleeding out on the ground, they had to be cared for at all costs. Endurance was key. And enduring demanded sacrifice.

And, lastly—

* * *

><p><em>The Demon, in my chamber high,<br>This morning came to visit me,  
>And, thinking he would find some fault,<br>He whispered: "I would know of thee_

_Among the many lovely things  
>That make the magic of his face,<br>Among the beauties, black and rose,  
>That make his body's charm and grace,<em>

_Which is most fair?" Thou didst reply  
>To the Abhorred, O soul of mine:<br>"No single beauty is the best  
>When he is all one flower divine."<em>

* * *

><p>Sebastian stood in the corner of the room, mired in the darkness. For the moment, he was neither demon nor butler. He was just an observer, hovering in between two mediums. To a human's eye, the room would have been black but for where silvery moonlight broke through the heavy curtains in small slivers, slashing through the night. Sebastian, however, saw everything with perfect clarity: the elegantly carved woodwork of both the paneling on the walls and the heavy four-poster bed, rich colours of the velvet draperies cloaking the large windows and bed, the finer details of the tasteful wallpaper. It was all so clear he couldn't be certain if he was actually seeing them or if the images had merely been engraved into his consciousness for all time. He didn't care to ponder it, though. He had other things on his mind.<p>

Lady Elizabeth was curled, cat-like, upon the young master's bed. She'd apparently fallen asleep watching him while the butler had been otherwise engaged. If his master so wished, he would move her later, but, for now, there was no point in risking waking her. The Earl himself was still sound asleep, and so action was momentarily suspended on all counts.

A small huff of amusement escaped his lips like a sigh. The young Earl looked so very much like a helpless child at present. Sebastian loved seeing his master like this. Defenseless, weak, powerless. _Innocent_. It made him want to cross the room, tenderly brush aside his master's hair to awaken him, and, holding him down by his throat, rip out his heart so he could feast on that pure, unbreakable soul. But he stayed his hand, never letting the image, beautiful in its violence, become reality. The Earl was still his "master", even if, in truth, he didn't have as much power as he thought he had. They still held a contract that needed to be resolved. Terminating it now wasn't worth it when his master's soul could be so much more robust.

"Se…bas…tian?" the Earl groaned hoarsely, his voice weak as he shifted slightly under his mountain of thick blankets. Though he and his butler had similar colouring—dark hair and porcelain pale skin—the Earl seemed to glow in the darkness whereas Sebastian merely blended with it, allowing it to take him as its own.

"I am _here_, my young lord," Sebastian replied, crossing the room and kneeling by the bed before the words had even fully left his mouth.

His master slowly rolled over onto his side, struggling as he did so, to look at his butler. Sebastian wondered what thoughts his master had running through his mind at that moment. Hateful ones in regard to their contract? Brooding ones toward his life's mission? Annoyed ones for his current state? Or, God forbid, thankful ones that his butler had not abandoned him? He didn't know. And that was the worst part: to be tied so closely to someone for an indefinite amount of time, both disdaining and finding amusement in your counterpart, and to never know what they were really thinking. Above all, Sebastian wondered what the Earl _saw_ when he looked at him: a devil, a dog, or nothing more than another chess piece.

"H—" The tiny Earl broke into a series of hacking coughs and gestured to his throat helplessly.

Sebastian retrieved a water-glass from his master's nightstand and held it at the right angle so the Earl could only sip at it instead of gorging himself on it until he vomited. The coughs provided a minor bit of relief, however; they were shallow coughs, not deeply set in his lungs, and it was good to know that, on top of everything, they didn't have to worry about his master's asthma flaring up.

"Is it helping, young master? Or shall I fetch you a cup of warm milk or tea?"

"It's fine. The water is fine," the Earl murmured, laying back against his pillows to stare at the canopy of his bed. "What happened?"

"You collapsed, my lord," Sebastian replied, setting the glass back down and rising to his feet so as to help his master sit higher up against the thick pillows. "We called for a physician—a new one, Dr. Munroe—and he diagnosed you with a fever."

"A fever?" He sounded skeptical, uncertain if he believed his demon or not.

Sebastian withheld a frown of annoyance. _You doubt me so very much, do you not? If I were to hold out a blade to you, would you think I meant to murder you or would you trust I mean only to protect you?_ He refrained from voicing his thoughts and, instead, offered a patient, practiced smile. "Yes, my lord. Try not to move so much. You need to try and rest; it will help you heal faster."

The Earl nodded numbly and settled down again. Sebastian had left his master's contract-scarred eye covered before he had gone into town and he watched the other eye close lazily and waited for his master to sleep. The child's breathing calmed, evened out, and Sebastian turned away, content to be alone with his thoughts once more. But he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.

"What time is it?" the Earl murmured groggily.

The butler checked his watch as he turned back toward his master. "Twelve twenty eight, master. Is there anything you wish me to bring you? Bard succeeded in preparing a light soup without setting the manor to flame. If that is unsuitable, I can prepare something else for you."

"A soup…maybe later. I want tea," he breathed.

"I'll be but a moment, then, my young lord."

* * *

><p><em>In a burnt, ashen land, where no herb grew,<br>I to the winds my cries of anguish threw;  
>And in my thoughts, in that sad place apart,<br>Pricked gently with the poignard o'er my heart.  
>Then in full noon above my head a cloud<br>Descended tempest-swollen, and a crowd  
>Of wild, lascivious spirits huddled there,<br>The cruel and curious demons of the air,  
>Who coldly to consider me began;<br>Then, as a crowd jeers some unhappy man,  
>Exchanging gestures, winking with their eyes—<br>I heard a laughing and whispering rise:_

_"__Let us at leisure contemplate this clown,  
>This shadow of Hamlet aping Hamlet's frown,<br>With wandering eyes and hair upon the wind.  
>Is't not a pity that this empty mind,<br>This tramp, this actor out of work, this droll,  
>Because he knows how to assume a role<br>Should dream that eagles and insects, streams and woods,  
>Stand still to hear him chaunt his dolorous moods?<br>Even unto us, who made these ancient things,  
>The fool his public lamentation sings."<em>

* * *

><p>"I look <em>dreadful<em>," the Earl complained upon Sebastian's return. He plucked at his limp, sweat-soaked nightshirt in distaste before taking his tea from his butler.

Sebastian had to agree. His young master was clammy, dark hair messy and stuck to his face from sweat. The Earl's nightshirt clung to him like a second skin. He looked as though he'd been dropped overboard in the middle of the ocean. Despite his…dampness, the Earl appeared to have regained his usual humor and was in as fine a state as ever.

"Indeed, sir. Shall I prepare a bath? We wouldn't want you to catch cold now, would we, young master?" He paid him a bright smile that he knew wasn't convincingly hiding his sarcastic smirk. He also knew, in the Earl's current state, it was far more practical to give him a sponge bath than risk him collapsing in the bathtub. But it was up to his master's wishes; provoking the Earl was just a bonus.

"Maybe in a few minutes," the Earl replied, pursing his lips for a split second—long enough to tell Sebastian that his teasing was unwanted. He stared down at his tea cup, clearly puzzled by how light it was in colour despite the strength of its smell, but didn't drink. "When did Lizzie get here?"

"Around nine, young master. She was very distraught. Snake informed me that Lady Elizabeth's driver is of the opinion she did not forewarn her parents of her voyage here. I don't believe I need to emphasize the issue that may arise from her…haste. What will you have me do?"

The Earl was quiet. He stared at his fiancée, only a foot or so away from him on the bed, with a direct and critical stare that had unnerved many people more than twice his age before. Though Sebastian couldn't hope to know what his master was currently thinking, he could feel the weight of those thoughts in the air as chemicals in the Earl's body changed and his pulse jumped to follow the speed of his thoughts. Without breaking from his thoughts, the Earl took a long drink of tea…and started coughing a second or so later.

"What are you playing at?!" he spluttered furiously at his butler, visible eye wide with something like shock and discomfort.

Sebastian couldn't hide his amusement this time. "Whatever are you referring to, young master?"

"The tea!" he gasped, the discomfort slowly beginning to recede from his expression. "It's _spicy_…."

"Yes." At the clueless and irate frown he received in return, the butler added lightly, "I thought _ginger_ tea would be appropriate, given your current condition. Unfortunately, it has a _faint kick_ to it. I did not think you would mind."

The Earl glared at him for a while longer, mostly in spite of Sebastian's smile. _Fight with me_, the demon thought. _No, not _with_ me. Just fight me. I have not groomed you to sit there like a broken doll because you are ill, so_ fight _me_.

His master "tsk"ed in annoyance and looked away. The next time he took a drink of tea, it was much slower and with more care. "At any rate," the boy drawled, choosing to ignore the tea issue now that he had figured out how to drink it without wanting to claw out his throat, "I don't think it would be in our best interests to move Lizzie to a guest room now—she might panic if she awoke alone in one—but, if I worsen again, she can't stay here."

"Perhaps I should transfer Lady Elizabeth to the sitting room's couch, then my lord?"

The Earl thought on it then nodded his assent. In the short amount of time it took for Sebastian to move Elizabeth from the foot of the Earl's bed and onto the couch with a blanket and pillow, his master had finished his tea and was starting to doze once more.

"It might be a good idea to save bathing for the morning," Sebastian observed, taking the tea cup and setting it on the nightstand.

"No," the Earl mumbled, slapping away his butler's hands when Sebastian tried to pull the covers back over him. "I feel horrid enough without having to lay here in my own filth for the rest of the night."

"As you say, lord." Sebastian was allowed to cheat just this once so the Earl didn't have to wait for the bath water to boil and then be hauled up to his bathroom. To be perfectly honest, the butler didn't quite understand the 'no magic' rule. While he understood the need for discretion and care, it just didn't seem practical to completely shun magic even when no one was around and there was just so much to be done. Of course, part of the problem with convincing his master otherwise was that he _did_…help himself along every once in a while when the servants were being even more incompetent than usual and there was no other solution. Pity. But, on the plus side, what the master didn't know wouldn't hurt him (probably) and it wasn't really a lie as long as he didn't say anything about it aloud.

The Earl's small hands tightened into fists against his jacket as Sebastian carefully lifted him from his bed—the sheets would need to be changed, but he would worry about _that_ when he came to it. Had his master been in perfect health, the Earl would have sat perfectly straight in his butler's arms, refusing to show any ounce of dependence or weakness even to himself. However, he wasn't and so, despite starting with mostly perfect posture, the boy had, in short order, ended up curled against his demon's chest. It was…tempting. Sebastian's hunger had long eclipsed the "I could really use a bite to eat" stages and had progressed to the point where he was perfectly willing to just take what he wanted…if not for his aesthetics and, well…his pride.

It definitely had nothing to do with his (devotion) nonexistent affection for the (child) mercurial brat in his arms. _Definitely_.

The aforementioned brat abruptly tensed and took a deep breath before, frowning up at him, he observed: "You smell differently than usual."

Sebastian mentally flinched; he knew he should have changed suits. Several statements to varying degrees of truthfulness flashed defensively through his mind and he settled on the most truthful and easiest to explain of them. "I went into town earlier, master."

He set the boy down and began removing his nightshirt, unbuttoning it and peeling it from his master's over-heated flesh. He could feel the Earl staring questioningly at the top of his head as he worked to furtherly undress his master. The stare intensified as Sebastian removed the Earl's eyes patch and both of his bi-coloured eyes—one the faultless blue of gentians and the other the clouded pinkish-purple of alstroemeria—glared down at him.

"Where did you go?" the Earl inquired sharply as he was helped into the bath. His tone swirled with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion.

"Goodness, you are not worried I would _abandon_ you, are you?" Sebastian taunted, knowing that wasn't the real reason for the Earl's suspicion.

His master flushed slightly, scowling for the umpteenth time that day to cover it as Sebastian rolled up his shirt sleeves and began to scrub down the Earl's body. "It's just a simple question."

_Is it, though?_ "The good doctor informed me that several people in London had died of similar sudden fevers, ones that had appeared just as suddenly as yours, my lord, and I saw fit to look into them. You were sedated and so I made the decision to investigate them on the grounds of looking into possible cures."

"And did you find one? A cure, that is?" the Earl inquired, dipping his left hand thoughtfully into the body-temperature bath water. His eyes were focused on the droplets falling from his fingers as he raised his hand once more, staring at them as though they held countless answers.

"I'm afraid not, my lord."

A derisive scoff was aimed in his general direction and was cut off as the butler lowered his master's head below the waterline and proceeded to wash his hair with less grace than usual. A tiny flicker of panic flashed through his master's eyes to suddenly feel water around his head and the fear vanished just as quickly. _My lord, you manipulate me countless times and I accept it as part of our contract. I manipulate you once and now I may as well be a viper in path. Pray tell, if I were to hold you under the water, would you even be surprised? Does our contract mean so little that you think I would break it so easily?_ In a way, he supposed, it did. After all, the Earl was avoiding the topic like the plague and, honestly, Sebastian _had_ just been contemplating the taste of his master's soul only a few minutes previously—rich with egotism and spicy with temper, but with a light, smooth undercurrent of his childish innocence…most likely, anyway.

Their eyes met and the butler helped his master to sit up again.

"Perhaps it would be wise to wait on discussing what I found until you are in better health."

An exhausted sigh answered him. "Very well, Sebastian. We'll discuss it in the morning."

They finished the bath in silence, the Earl caught up in whatever thoughts were flitting through his head as Sebastian went between dark ponderings on the emotions he'd subdued into the furthest corners of his mind and menial thoughts of what was best to prepare for meals tomorrow and whether or not he should wake the Earl in the morning before Lady Elizabeth was retrieved by her demanding mother. The silence continued on as Sebastian dressed his master in fresh nightclothes and a new eye patch (just in case Lady Elizabeth happened to awaken the master and take him by surprise), and carried him back to his bed. The Earl didn't comment on the fact that his bed was now remade with clean sheets.

"Allow me, my lord," the butler murmured, helping his master to settle in under the blankets better. The Earl looked tiny and child-like again in the glow of a single lamp, despite the frown creasing his brow. By the way his blue eye was unfocused, Sebastian supposed he was fighting the urge to fall asleep. "It is late. You must rest if you hope to ever recover."

The Earl gave a distracted nod, as though he wasn't really listening anymore, as his eyelid slowly drooped shut. Before Sebastian could even consider leaving, the boy exhaustedly slurred, "Stay with me until I fall asleep."

Sebastian watched him a moment, utterly silent. There were things you never discussed with the people you were closest to (contractually or otherwise). The Earl didn't discuss the debt he owed Sebastian or how he had been manipulated because it wounded his pride. Similarly, Sebastian didn't mention the fact that he knew his master was still plagued by the late Alois Trancy's memories. The Earl would deny it, if he did, and it was a sore subject for them both. After all, Sebastian only knew about the memories because of little ticks his master displayed occasionally in the last month that reminded him of the blond boy. That and because, several nights previously, the young Earl had called for an entirely _different_ butler in the midst of a nightmare. It was an incident Sebastian was choosing to ignore entirely for both of their sakes.

"Of course, my young lord."

_If you will have me, I will stay until the very end, whether you remember our contract or not. I will stand by your side. I will neither abandon you, nor will I allow harm to come with you. Forevermore, until the end._

_Until I devour your soul._

He blew out the light.

* * *

><p><em>On a rainy day, I stood in a garden.<br>Nonchalantly, it becomes audible—the sound of a string, while I entrust myself to this body._

_Red roses…__**let's crush them**__._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> End of arc one. My apologies for taking so long to post, but getting everything together for Christmas has been super stressful and I've barely had a moment to myself. As you can see, all interludes have a slightly different formatting to regular chapters. The first two poems in this chapter are by Charles Baudelaire; the first is a bastardization of his poem **The Temptation **(the poem originally is about a demon asking the narrator what is most enchanting about a woman), and the second is two thirds of the poem **La Beatrice**. The ending snippet is the English translation of the opening of one of Sebastian's character songs, Tsuki No Ame (pardon me if I've gotten that incorrect). While this chapter is in Sebastian's POV, I also somewhat feel that his and Ciel's points of view commingle at times. I hope I've done alright showing that. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and faved thus far. Please review and let me know what you think. Happy holidays to you all!


	7. Pt 2, Chpt VII: That Reaper, Change,,,

**Part Two: The Grim Reaper's Guide to Proper Death Scythe Maintenance**

**Chapter VII:  
>That Reaper, Change of Assignment<strong>

Tired feet stomped down the long, somewhat dim hallway, moving slowly over age-cracked tiled floors. Black gloved hands fumbled with a set of keys and, after a long moment, opened an apartment door. As soon as the door closed behind him, Grell slumped against it with a sigh of relief. He was _so_ tired. _So, __**so**__ tired_.

He locked the door behind him and moved further into the room. Though the walls and kitchen cabinets were bland and drab, the rest of the apartment was covered in bright red: red furniture, red lamps and shades, red rugs haphazardly strewn across the floor, and long red drapes over the two large windows Grell could happily claim were his own. _Home sweet home_, the reaper thought, tossing his keys and a huge work file down onto his coffee table before bending down to remove his shoes. Since he'd left Bassy stranded in London, Grell had been so stuck in work he could barely breathe. First he had to write up a report on what he'd learned about the missing souls, and then he'd had to respond to several important letters, file paperwork that was more overdue than he wanted to admit, attend a meeting, add a footnote to his report that explained who had assisted him in investigating and how certain he was that his dear Sebastian wasn't taking part in stealing any souls, file several papers about his death scythe's upkeep…the list went on. And, while Ronald was a sweet boy for helping him with his paperwork, Grell had not slept, had barely eaten, and was looking forward to resting his aching body.

Humming a sinister waltz, the reaper shed his clothes, changing into a thin scarlet robe, and started running a bath. As the bathroom filled up with warmth and steam, he pottered around, lighting candles and getting something to drink. If he was going to relax then, damn it all, he was going to relax properly.

Grell shed his robe and edged into the hot, bubble-filled water with a sigh of contentment.

"_Mmm_, I _do_ like this," he purred, sinking down as far as his long legs would allow. He turned off the tap with one of his red-nailed feet and closed his eyes.

His muscles ached, throbbing dully, but they slowly relaxed with a pleasant, faintly tingly sensation. Phosphorescent green eyes still closed, Grell smiled wolfishly up at his ceiling. He was going to have to come up with something absolutely _delicious_ as punishment for Will overworking him. Hmm, maybe he could bend him over and give Will a nice spanking. It might just knock some sense into him in regards to not over working poor, defenseless maidens. And, of course, it would be fun to see Will so hot and bothered. Never mind that he'd probably get a death scythe launched at him, all that was important was that he got to _play_ with _his __**dear **__William_.

Something prickled naggingly at the back of his mind and Grell let out a growl of frustration. The mail. _Ew_. Was there no end to his trials? He daintily picked up the thick packet of envelopes he'd brought in with him, hoping to go through them quickly as he sipped his not-so-virgin drink. Bill. Bill. Junk. Bill. Work stuff. He didn't even _know_ what _that_ was. Another bill.

Each envelope was tossed back onto the floor with a bored huff—bills and work things in one pile and everything else in another. Grell yawned, scratching the back of his neck where some of his flame red hair was sticking to his damp skin after having escaped from the kerchief he'd tied it back with. He was just about to go back to relaxing when he noticed there was still one letter left. Grell's heart skipped a beat when he realized it was from Will.

"_Oh, William_, I _knew_ you cared," he sighed, a blissful smile stretching across his face as he worked to open it with bath water dampened fingers. "You can _try_ to hide it behind those cold eyes of yours, but _I_ am a hunter of _love_ and—" Grell cut off abruptly as the lines of the letter permeated his brain. His eyes widened behind his slightly steamed up glasses and the letter crumpled in his furiously shaking hands.

Grell bolted from his bath, splashing water everywhere, and ran for his clothes before he even knew what he was really doing. Fury took over. And his scream of rage echoed throughout the building.

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>WILLIAM T. SPEARS!<em>**"

The shriek pierced the air and Will glanced up from his mountain of paperwork to look at his door. He adjusted his glasses with a sigh and, returning to his papers, muttered, "_Honestly…._"

His office door was kicked open with a resounding bang, and it slammed into the wall, only to swing back towards the frame on impact. The last person William wanted to see tonight was standing in his doorway, half-sopping wet and so entirely disheveled that he had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't mistaken.

"_What_ are you doing in my office after hours, Grell Sutcliff?" Will inquired flatly, offering no emotion in his tone but for sheer annoyance at being interrupted. He had work to do—both his own and to cover the paperwork neglected by laggards like Sutcliff who only had an interest in field work and failed to see the importance of deskwork—and had explicitly asked the secretarial staff to ensure he was not disturbed, but now he was sure to get behind. "I do _not_ have time to—"

"**_You!_**" Grell raged, cutting him off as he slammed the office door behind him so hard the foggy glass in the door's window rattled. The red-haired reaper stormed up to him and slammed his hands down upon Will's desk, leaning in close as he shouted, "_How __**dare**__ you_, William?! After _everything_ we've been through together, you would do _this_ to me?!"

Will adjusted his glasses once more, regarding his coworker expressionlessly. _Really_, what was wrong with Sutcliff, _now?_ "What are you referring to, Grell?"

"The letter, you pompous popinjay! _This letter!_" Grell, raging like a man at his wit's end, slammed a very crumpled, slightly damp letter onto the paper-logged desk between them. "Do you know how _hard_ I've worked on this miserable assignment?! I'll have your head for this! You _can't_ do this to me!"

"_I_ am not the one who ordered this," Will replied, glancing over the letter briefly. "It was upper management's decision; I merely relayed their wishes. Take it up with _them_ if you disagree with their decision."

"_Oh_, no, _no_, **_no_**, Will," Grell growled, yanking his fellow reaper toward him by the tie. "You don't get to play coy with me!"

Any other time and William would have been mildly concerned that Grell was attempting to take advantage of the situation and would try to steal a kiss; in this instance, however, he was somewhat surprised Grell hadn't attempted to run him through with his death scythe. It wasn't as though Grell had ever been the most tactful of reapers.

"Calm down, Sutcliff," Will replied calmly, pretending he wasn't being nearly strangled with his tie.

"**_I WILL NOT CALM DOWN, WILLIAM!_** I have been working on this assignment from the beginning! You and management _can't_ reassign me!"

"Well, clearly, management must have found a better qualified candidate for your assignment."

Grell fell silent as though he had been slapped. A moment or so passed and Grell's eyes narrowed dangerously behind his spectacles as he growled, "They gave _you_ my assignment, didn't they?"

Will stayed quiet before evenly replying, "Yes."

"_William!_" the redhead fumed, shaking him and leaning in so close to Will's face that the stoic reaper could feel Grell's breath on his cheek. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't know a damn thing about those missing souls! If it weren't for Bassy and I, you wouldn't know there was a connection between them and the demons! If it weren't for us—"

"If your success is entirely dependent on such a noxious creature as _that demon_, it isn't a wonder management did not see fit to entrust this assignment to you."

"Are you saying I'm incapable of doing my job?!"

"I am saying that this is a delicate case and should be treated as such."

"And I'll bet you think you're the one to do it, too, aren't you?! Well, let me tell you, Spears! You might be good behind a desk but that doesn't mean you know anything about working in the field like the rest of us!"

"For God's sake, Reaper Sutcliff, pull yourself together!" William snapped, annoyed. He took several heavy breaths, calming himself until he could keep up the appearance of his usual emotionless sedation. "It's just a job," he went on quietly. "We do our work and we do not question management's decisions."

Grell released him and shoved Will back so he near crashed into his chair. The dark-haired reaper carefully straightened his suit and his glasses before sitting perfectly upright in his desk chair. Grell stalked off to the door, still fuming. The redhead wrenched open the door, startling one of the secretaries cleaning up for the day in the large room beyond.

Grell abruptly turned around and snarled, "I don't care _what_ management says, I _am not_ a babysitter!"

The door slammed behind him with a very final-sounding **_bang!_**

William sat in silence for a long moment, thinking. He glanced down at the letter Grell had abandoned on his desk and felt his lips twitch in an unfamiliar expression: a mocking smile. It faded as quickly as it had come. The reaper put the letter in his desk drawer, reminding himself to have someone re-deliver it to Grell before morning, and pulled a thick stack of paperwork toward him. Will made sure his tie was straight, fixed his glasses once more…and sighed once more as his mind returned to Grell. "_Honestly._"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> And so begins arc two! Hi, everyone! ^^ I hope you all had a lovely holiday. Please don't forget to review! See all of you wonderful people in the new year!  
>(Also "popinjay" *gigglesnorts* I shouldn't be finding it that funny, but... *dissolves into giggles*)<p> 


	8. Chapter VIII: That Reaper, Minions

**Chapter VIII:  
>That Reaper, Minions<strong>

It was one of those days that dawned such a clear and welcoming shade of blue that one couldn't help but feel cheerful just to see it. As such, Grell took one look at his bedside clock, remembered what he was meant to be spending the day doing, and abruptly covered his head with his ruby satin sheets. No. Nope. Not happening. Not a chance. He wasn't paid enough for this rubbish.

Half an hour later, Grell cautiously peeked out of his blankets at the time before cocooning himself once more. Still wasn't happening. If they wanted him to come into work so badly, then they could come and get him and drag him into work themselves.

He lasted a total of five minutes more before the tiny, seldom acknowledged, responsible part of his brain—which sounded alarmingly (though not entirely unpleasantly) like a combination of William's "in charge" voice and Sebastian's "you are being an idiot, Grell" voice—began nagging at him. Grell was able to take very little of his own mental abuse before he sluggishly clambered out of bed. Not at all pleased, Grell brushed out his long hair and dressed without any real enthusiasm. He scowled at his reflection and bared his pointed teeth. _I hate my job_.

By the time Grell had reached his office building, grabbed what things he needed for the day, and made it to his appointment in the cafeteria, lunch had long since passed and the cavernous room was empty. Or, at the very least, nearly empty. At the far end of the room, two young reapers—both of them easily passing for human teenagers in appearance, despite their bland ordinance-required suits—were deeply absorbed in their shouting match as they stood on opposite sides of a small, slightly coffee-stained table. In fact, they were so focused on bickering that they failed to notice Grell as he strutted over to their table.

"Children?" Grell nearly growled after being ignored for several long minutes, hands on his hips as he managed to look haughty and imperious despite his annoyance.

One of the arguing duo—a tall, lanky girl who's white hair was nearly as long as Grell's own hair—broke off and flashed Grell an apologetic grin. "Ah…um, 'ello, Mr. Sutcliff, ma'am."

Her apparent other half said nothing as he stared impassively at them from under a shock of deep brown hair.

Grell clicked his tongue impatiently and reprimanded, "Chesterton Marx, you should be _ashamed_ of yourself. _No_ proper lady should _ever_ raise her voice to a man like that. We ladies are _far_ too well bred and _far_ too well behaved for that. And _you_, Birkheart—I had _hoped_ you knew _better_ than to _argue_ so coarsely with a woman. Ladies like Chess and I may _want passion_, but that's no reason to be rude! And _neither_ of you have _any _reason to degenerate into _brawling children_."

Though Chess had enough grace to look sufficiently cowed, Birkheart stared at Grell with silent challenge. It was such a Will-like expression that Grell had to pause in speaking in order to stop and frown at him. This was just _so_ unfair.

As ladylike as he could possibly manage, Grell sat himself on the edge of the table closest to them and carefully crossed his legs. "_So_. What _did_ you two _do_ to warrant watching?"

Chess shot Birkheart such a glare that it was a miracle the boy's head didn't burst into flame. "_I_ did nuthin'. _I_ just wanted to complete my final exam properly."

"We finished early," Birkheart clarified at Grell's questioning look.

Grell blinked politely at them. He, personally, had never really paid any attention to any of the classes of young reapers unless Will was teaching them. Therefore, he had been a bit oblivious to the fact that other classes were currently in the midst of their final exams. His mind promptly stalled. _Wait…most reapers finish their exams early. So then…._ "Just _how many_ days did it take you to complete your exams?"

"Two."

"Eh?" The number had been in perfect unison and Grell had nearly fallen off of his table as he gawked questioningly at them. Both juveniles stared back at him—Chess with a bit of guilt and Birkheart with the same observational detachment—but didn't take back what they had said. Pointedly ignoring that he had wanted to complete his own final exams on the very day he'd begun them, he added, "You completed your _first reaping_ in _two days?!_"

"It was actually closer to one and one half," Chess murmured awkwardly as Birkheart gave a nod of confirmation. His blank expression became a glower as Chesterton blurted, "But it weren't my fault, Mr. Sutcliff, ma'am! Harrison said we ought to finish quickly b'cause our initial opinions would probably stay the same as our final ones! I told him we should wait longer, but he would only wait a day!"

"I am _not_ entirely to blame, Marx," Birkheart snapped, somehow managing to convey his ire despite the lack of tone in his voice. "_You_ were just as much at fault as _I_ am. And _don't_ call me 'Harrison'. We are _not_ friends, as such it is improper."

Chess let out a short, derisive cackle. "What? _You_ actually have _friends?_ Don't make me _laugh_."

And then they were back at each other's throats, bickering something fierce.

Grell sighed, his head in his hands. He finally understood why management had wanted these two watched. Chess and Birkheart had been so quick to pass judgment that someone from management was going to have to watch their mark to make sure they'd made the right choice. In normal circumstances, remedial classes and a lecture probably would have been issued, but the kiddies were _so_ hungry for each other's blood it would be dangerous to leave them alone for long.

But Grell had things of his own he needed to do. He blatantly _refused_ to let Will take all the credit for completing _his_ assignment when he'd been worked near to _death_ over it. He wasn't just some lady who could be taken advantage of! But how could he possibly complete _both_ assignments before Will could complete his one?

Grell forcefully pushed both juveniles apart before Chess could be provoked into breaking Birkheart's nose. He settled down in a chair between them with a glare that promised a gruesome death if either of them dared to speak another word. And then a rather brilliant (if he said so himself) idea occurred to him. Grell smiled wolfishly, not missing the sudden nervousness in both Chess and Birkheart's eyes, and peered demurely at them over his scarlet-framed glasses.

"Well, then," Grell cooed, gently drumming a black-gloved hand on the table in a teasingly thoughtful manner as he rested his chin on the other hand. "As management _failed_ to mention whether or not I should _discipline_ you, I suppose that makes _me_ your _executioner_."

Chess stared up at him through wide, innocent eyes. "W-what are you going to do to us, Mr. Sutcliff, ma'am?"

_Heh_. "I _so_ hope both of your library cards are up to date."

* * *

><p>London. It spread out around him like a noxious, sulfurous spider's web. William adjusted his glasses, reading over his list for the day. These lists were starting to get out of hand. They were longer and longer every day, meaning more and more overtime. Will <em>hated<em> overtime. And six pages of names meant _a lot_ of overtime.

Perhaps he should have been more upfront with Grell about upper management's decision to put him in charge of watching Marx and Birkheart. He knew management had actually intended on Grell working on both assignments (a show of trust, mainly), but Will knew perfectly well that Grell couldn't even get his basic paperwork in on time and therefor had no trust in the redhead's ability to work properly alongside him without an innuendo or some other immoral and improper assault on his person. Grell was just too much of a distraction and too easily distracted to work with alone. Honestly, he had no idea how Knox did it. There was no time for pondering it, though; he had work to do.

Will moved through names quickly and methodically; he did not stop to ponder what his marks were like, what they thought, or any such rubbish. Instead, he focused on the important things: that he reaped the right person in an orderly fashion. Grell's notes on where each human who had been claimed by the mystery illness had been located where surprisingly thorough (probably only because that vile demon had assisted him) and so, whenever William found himself close to one location, he would take a quick look around the area just to make certain. It was troubling that most of those locations showed signs of demonic activity. Upper management would not be pleased. _Ugh, for crying out loud. Can I not simply do my job in peace?_

It was getting rather late when Will was finally down to one name left on his list. Thomas Porter; it was strange for a four year old to be on the To Die list under suspicious circumstances. Especially when his soul's state was in question. _He_ didn't question it, personally, though. He'd seen _many_ strange circumstances around many strange deaths. That was just the nature of being a reaper. And so he went to look into the matter with minimal concern and just as little interest.

William found himself standing outside a row of run-down flats and made his way into the one marked on his list. His mark was waiting in the nursery and, when Will stepped close to his bed to compare photographs with the person before him, the child cracked open a blue eye to stare blearily at him.

"My apologies," Will said, voice quiet but also matter-of-factly, "but I will begin the collection of your soul immediately."

He caught his breath and nearly took a step back as a cold blade was pressed to his neck from behind.

"Try it and I will see to your end, reaper," a cold female voice spat.

Will reached up, straightened his glasses, and banished the To Die list from his hands. "Pardon, but this boy's soul is slated for collection at this time. As you have not devoured it, _demon_, I must see to it that it is logged accordingly."

The demoness moved between him and the bed, blade pointing accusingly at William and never lowering in the slightest. Her eyes burned like flame as she glared at him. "Then you _will_ wait until he is dead to take it from him. I won't fight you for it, reaper, but you _will not_ touch my master until he has breathed his last."

He tried not to sigh, knowing this was not going to be settled civilly. Will adjusted his grip on his death scythe. He didn't need this demon ruining his carefully laid schedule and he didn't need to sit here, fighting like children over a soul that the demon was planning on letting him take anyway. _Absolutely pointless_, Will thought scornfully. _That is _exactly _what this is_.

Will made sure he attacked first.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I forgot today's an update day! *flails**runs in circles* Take my chapter, guys! Take it! *hands it over* Really, though, can you believe it's been a whole year since we've seen each other? *bad New Year's joke* Okay, okay, I'm shutting up now. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and faved this fic thus far. I hope you continue to enjoy it. To new readers: I hope you like what you see. Aaaaaaaand! I'm off. Please feed me reviews, 'kay? Reviews be like souls or chocolate...or chocolate-covered souls. Omnomnom.


	9. Chpt IX: Intermission: The Young Master

**Chapter IX:  
>Intermission: The Young Master, Feverishly Falling<strong>

There is a thin line between dreams and reality. Sometime after Sebastian promised to stay with him, Ciel lost track of that line. At first, he had been acutely aware he was dreaming, even though he could not recall the dream itself. It was as though he had been sitting in the dark for a long stretch of time, letting everything float away from himself as he stayed in one place. And then things started to get strange.

A pounding noise echoed through his head—_thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump_—and began shaking the walls of his bedroom. It blasted through the manor, growing louder and louder—_THUMPTHUMP THUMPTHUMP THUMPTHUMP_—and Ciel curled up into a tiny ball under his covers, pressing his hands over his ears as hard as he could to block it out. The sound would not fade.

_THUMPTHUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMPTHUMP._

Sebastian found him that way a little while later and listened intently while Ciel tried and tried to explain that Sebastian needed to tear up the floorboards under his bed because he was certain his heart had fallen under them. It wasn't until Sebastian promised he would do so that Ciel accepted the drink he was being offered and then commenced lying in his bed calmly, drifting away as the pounding sound faded.

_It's all wrong, you see, because—hey, are you even listening to me anymore? See, in principle, it's as sound a theory as any, but—_

Ciel sat on the parlor's rug, wooden blocks lying casually around him as, ignoring the blocks, he carefully stacked a tower of cards. His parents were discussing something important on the other side of the room, but he was too focused on his tower to listen in. Maybe when he was done…. A bit of movement caught his eye. A spider—a spindly-legged daddy long legs—was crawling slowly up the side of one of his blocks. Ciel huffed in annoyance. They were _his_ blocks, _not_ the spider's, and he _didn't_ want to share. He crushed the spider under another block, wondering where all the red was coming from as the room bathed in it.

_—__in practice, it falls apart. Now, now, don't get cross with me for speaking the truth. I might—_

"My apologies, prince, but the young master is in no fit state to entertain visitors," a slow, patient voice murmured. Somewhat deep and proprietious, it calmed Ciel's throbbing head as he stared at the canopy of his bed.

"But I want to see Ciel!" a slightly higher, richly accented Indian voice protested with a whine.

"My prince, please calm down," another voice cut in.

"No, Agni, I will not! Is Ciel alright? Why can I not see him?!"

"Prince Soma, I must ask you to please keep your voice down," the first voice chided. Ciel wanted him to keep talking; his voice was nice on his aching mind. "If you wake the young master, it will only cause his condition to worsen."

_Condition? What…I…_ The room was too bright to think properly. He closed his eyes.

_—__not be as smart as you, but I do know some things. I can give you a demonstration, if you'd like? No? Well, then—_

There was a cat sitting in the middle of the road before him, purring as loudly as could be as it eyed him with phosphorescent green eyes and a lascivious, feral grin. It had a crow in its reddish brown paws. Ciel watched in morbid fascination as the crow would struggle to escape and, after a minute or so, the cat would let it go before recapturing it and holding it tightly in its claws. The process was repeated indefinitely until, aggravated by the cat's lack of dignity or respect for its conquest, Ciel helped to free the crow. He was rewarded for his efforts by the crow plucking his heart from his chest and feasting on his eyes.

_—__what a pity. And now you're scoffing at me. Whatever shall I do with my free time if you don't stop and listen? You'll listen, then? Of course—_

He could smell blood. Thick and smothering, it clung to the air around him, dragging him down like so many clinging hands. Under the waves, struggling to breathe, he was in an ocean of himself and he couldn't get out. He couldn't…he couldn't….

_—__I won't blather on about nothing of consequence. I've only the most important things to tell you, you know. Don't believe me all you want, I shan't care. You want to talk, then? Excellent._

Ciel was dancing. He didn't particularly like to dance—never had, never would—but he wasn't leading, so it wasn't that bad to be pulled gracefully around the room by another person. He saw blond hair out of the corner of his eye and assumed immediately that the person holding him was Elizabeth. Who else would be so forceful about making him dance?

Something about the room put him on edge, either the sheer blackness of the walls and floor or the contrast of violet paned windows and scarlet light that poured from them. The waltz music wasn't helping, at all—a singularly diabolical tune that made his heart pound and his head spin faster and faster. His lungs seized up. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't _breathe_. Couldn't speak. Stop. _Stop. **Stop**_. Let me _go_. I don't want—

Ciel stumbled back and crashed down onto the cold, obsidian floor. His left shoulder throbbed painfully as he lay there, his body heat seeming to be sucked from his flesh and into the ground. Footsteps clicked against the tile and a pair of shiny black boots came into his field of vision. A patronizing smile and mischievous blue eyes greeted him as another boy knelt down before him.

"I _knew_ you would fall," the blond chirped, grabbing onto Ciel's hand and forcefully pulling him to his feet. "He was right; you really _are_ pitifully weak for a boy."

"Shut up, Trancy," Ciel spat, stepping out of arm's reach as soon as he had regained his feet.

Alois pouted at him. "Shut up?" he echoed, crossing his arms across his chest. "But I thought you wanted to talk. We're _all alone_ finally and we _never_ talk; we've _so_ much to talk about."

"Then talk!"

"Only if you dance with me. And don't try to say you don't dance! You were doing just fine until you started questioning where you are."

The blond held out his hand once more and Ciel wasn't sure if it was madness or curiosity that made him take it. He didn't get a chance to figure it out before Alois spun them into motion.

"I have a theory—"

"About _what_, pray tell," Ciel interrupted sourly. "I can scarcely fathom the meagre extent of your knowledge."

Alois smiled quickly and sharply, like the flashing of a blade, as he continued to dance them around the room. "I know more than you think, you know. I know _a lot_ about secrets. _Your_ secrets, especially. Would you like to hear my theory about them?"

Ciel stopped in his tracks, staring warily at the blond boy. What was he playing at, speaking of secrets? _No one_ knew his secrets except Sebastian, and even _he_ didn't know all of them. Therefor—

Alois jerked him back into motion with a petulant scowl. "It's _rude_ to stop in the middle of a dance, Ciel; surely even _you_ know that." He'd barely finished scolding him before his cheerful smile had returned. "Well, go on. I _know_ you want to know what I'm talking about. All you have to do is ask."

"Fine," Ciel muttered after a second's more of thought. "What is your theory?"

"I think they _want_ us to die."

Ciel stumbled over his feet in surprise, and barely managed to keep moving as he inquired, "_Who_ wants us to die?"

"_Them_, of course."

There were mirrors along the walls that Ciel had failed to notice before. Though, they weren't like normal mirrors. As Alois spoke, each mirror's reflection changed, showing what could only be described as memories. Memories revolving around two people in particular: Claude and Sebastian.

Ciel tried to shake his head clear as countless images of both butlers flashed past. With a slight frown, he inquired, "Why would _they_ want _us_ to die?"

"Mainly because we contracted them and if we live they don't get our souls," Alois said in a "duh" tone of voice. In a far more thoughtful tone, he added, "Think about it, Ciel. Everything they do, they do for us. If we don't clip their wings, they'll fly off when they can. But, if we do, they'll hate us forever. And so Sebastian will let you die because it is the only way he can abandon you without any guilt or blame."

Ciel froze, staring at Alois as though the other boy had punched him.

Alois seemed to sense that Ciel wasn't going to dance with him anymore and, with a saddened sigh, he straightened his violet coat and pretended he wasn't being gaped at. Fiddling temperamentally with his lacy cuffs, he continued: "Don't look so _surprised_, Ciel. Claude _killed me_ because I _wanted_ to love him and, instead, I just got in his way. Why would Sebastian be any different in the end? Right now, you're just empty baggage to him. Not willing to fulfill your contract and not willing to not; just like some tease of a tart."

"_Shut up_, Trancy," Ciel near growled, fists clenched. He didn't want to hear any more.

"_No_, I _don't_ think I will." Alois grabbed him by the arm and yanked him closer in some twisted version of a hug. "And here's another piece of trivia for you."

The blond whispered into his ear and Ciel's blood ran cold. Alois loosened his grip on Ciel's arm just slightly; in retribution, Ciel shoved him through the nearest mirror.

Everything shattered.

_London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down upon me, my lady._

"My lord? My lord, are you awake?"

"Open your eyes, you—"

_Thump. Thumpthump. Thump. Thumpthump._

He was drowning again, but this time in an ocean of tears and blood. There were others here with him, all trying to reach for the surface as he was. All failing to reach air. No matter how hard he kicked, he only succeeded in sinking lower and lower into the abyss.

And then something dragged him free and he was caught in the grip of talons and hands. Hands that poked and pulled and touched as they ought not. He pushed at them, trying to make them leave, but the hands were persistent and he was far too weak as they tried to pull him furtherly into the dark.

_Thumpthump. Thumpthump. Thumpthump_.

Ciel started awake, nearly leaping out of his bed. Three pairs of eyes stared worriedly at him as a pair of gloved hands tried to calm him. Frantically, Ciel sought out the pair of eyes that were reddish-brown and entirely too concerned for his well-being and croaked, "Water. I…I want…_want_…."

And then he was blissfully unconscious.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> First official Ciel chapter! =D What can I say, I like the little brat. Here's a bit of trivia: the room Ciel and Alois are dancing in is inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's The Masque of the Red Death, in which a prince and a thousand other nobles take refuge in a walled abbey to hide from the Red Death, which is a plague. The abbey possesses seven coloured rooms, the last of which is black and illuminated with scarlet light. I thought it was fitting given that there's also the whole illness theme and Ciel likes Poe. Added in the violet windows because of Alois's coat. (I mean, dat coat...do want. X3) You guys are such awesome people, you know that? ^^ Thank you so much for all your kind words. I'm happy to say we've broken 1k views with this fic. =3 Very, very happy. Thank you all, again! ^^ I hope you enjoyed this chapter. See you all soon.


	10. Chapter X: That Reaper, Researching

**Chapter X:  
>That Reaper, Researching<strong>

"An' that's all of them!" With a sigh of relief, Chess dropped an enormous stack of cinematic records onto a rickety old table as Birkheart dropped an equally large stack of normal records onto the table beside it.

Every inch of the three library tables they'd claimed were covered in books, scrolls, sheets of paper, and records of every type. They'd taken over an entire corner of the reaper's library the night before, aggravating the records' keepers to no end when Grell had announced that he needed the library for a very special assignment and yes, the keepers could take it up with William T. Spears if they really had an issue with it. The keepers hadn't gone to Will and had, instead, contented to glare at the trio as if that would really do anything. (Which, it _didn't_.)

The desire to get back at Will for screwing him (and not in the way he'd wanted it to happen) over on this assignment was a better motivator than all the shoes and purses in the world, and it motivated Grell to work through the night with tireless energy. The clock was edging on five thirty in the morning and Grell barely looked up from the records he was perusing to give Chess a curt nod in a gesture of "good work". Had he been a little less focused, he would have pondered if today was going in the records as the first day in history where Grell Sutcliff worked as hard as someone previously in management ought to be working.

He pushed frustratedly at his long red bangs, trying to get them out of his way so he could read better. So far, this was turning into a wild goose chase. They'd gone through records from the seventeen hundreds to present day and had, thus far, found nothing. And so he'd had Chess and Birkheart bring out all the records for the two hundred years previously. If he had to, Grell was damn well prepared to look through this entire library. He had time. He had determination. He had minions. That was all he needed to get through it. Still, they were getting nowhere fast.

It was just after six—when the records' keepers came in—that Will entered.

Grell fought down the urge that was bubbling up in his stomach that said to throw his arms around his fellow reaper as he reminded himself just how angry he was at William. He ignored the prickle of worry in his gut to see Will looked like he'd been in a fight recently and he also ignored the accompanying urge to go and kill whoever dared attack _his_ William. _Nope. Bastard. Doesn't deserve your sympathy. Back to working on revenge, Grell. Ignore him._

He tried to ignore Will, he really did, but it didn't help when, apparently spotting them, William made his way over to his table.

"'Ello, Mr. Spears, sir," Chess greeted cheerfully, if a bit tiredly, from behind a book that was thicker than her leg. Hearing her, one would almost think Grell hadn't spent the entire night muttering darkly about Will under his breath.

"Ms. Marx," William greeted with a short nod before turning on Grell. "What are you doing, Sutcliff?"

"_I_ am _working_, William," Grell said cooly, flicking his hair (which had been strangled into a ponytail several long hours ago) behind his shoulder with a diva's flair. "Isn't that what _you_ should be doing?"

Will didn't reply, staring at Grell for a long moment as though he couldn't quite believe his eyes. His probing gaze travelled over their tables littered with records to the dark circles under the small group's eyes and finally to Grell's stack of notes in childish red writing. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Grell was perfectly content to get back to work when the seat adjacent to him was moved back, another stack of records was dropped down before it, and Will sat himself down in it.

"_What the __**hell**_ do you think you're _doing?!_" Grell snarled at him, nearly dropping the enormous record in his hands.

"_I_ am working, as well," the dark-haired reaper replied evenly, his monotone soothing despite Grell wishing otherwise.

"Now _see here_, William!" Grell fumed, looming over him as threateningly as he could manage. "I _may_ be the most deadly efficient reaper here, but I _refuse_ to let you take the credit for my work! I don't need you sitting here, ordering me about when we are managing _perfectly well_, thank you very much! Don't think you can just come in here, throw some records at us, and expect us to do the research for you!"

"Isn't that what _you_ did, Mr. Sutcliff?" Birkheart muttered, coughing as Chess elbowed him hard in the stomach.

Will ignored the novices and eyed Grell evenly behind his glasses. "I didn't expect you to."

Grell paused, biting his lip and pressing his forefingers together in anxious curiosity. "You…_didn't?_"

Will's eyes never softened or waivered, but something in his posture seemed slightly more contrite as he gave Grell a short nod and pulled several blank sheets of paper and a pen toward himself. "I take it you've found nothing of consequence, Sutcliff?"

"Well…_no_. But we've not gone too many years back."

"All of the locations where those humans have died have borne signs of demonic presence," Will told him, "have any of you looked at deaths connected to demons?"

An awkward silence filled their corner of the library. Grell fidgeted uncomfortably. Demonic deaths. Why hadn't _he_ thought of _that_?

"I will take that as a no," Will concluded. To the juveniles, he added, "Ask Keeper Merrick for a list of demon-related deaths and bring the relevant volumes." The pair stared blankly at him and he narrowed his eyes at them. "_Now_."

Both novices ran off to do so without a glare or grumble between them. It was the first Grell had seen of them acting civil and, as such, he was suitably impressed. He turned his tired eyes back to Will, taking in the sight of him sitting there—back straight, posture proud, and legs crossed as he turned pages with one hand and carefully transcribed notes with another. Grell was able to take five minutes of it before he was unable to stay quiet any longer.

"What are you _really_ doing here, Will?"

Will didn't look up from his record. "Working, as I said."

"_Right_. Look me in the eye and tell me you're _'just working'_, William, and I _might_ consider believing you."

Accepting the challenge, Will met Grell's eyes and tonelessly said, "I _am_ just working, Grell."

"Liar."

Frowning deeply, Will shut the record he was holding with a sharp snap and glowered at his red-haired coworker. "What do you want me to say, Sutcliff? It is obvious you will not stop working on this assignment, no matter what management says or what I ask of you. We will get more work done if we share notes. Therefore, it is prudent for us to research together. I will see to it that you are credited for your work in exchange for information."

Grell couldn't hold it in any longer and launched himself across the table to throw his arms around a not-so-surprised William. Seated in Will's lap, Grell nuzzled him affectionately. "I _knew_ you cared about my feelings, William."

Will scowled. "_Don't_ make me demote you again, Grell."

Grell was too happy to care.

* * *

><p>"Why do you want to be in collections, Marx?" William inquired as Chess set down a tray of tea (and a single cup of black coffee for Birkheart) before them.<p>

Chess shrugged mildly and sat down at her tiny kitchen table. They had been kicked out of the library an hour or so ago and, carrying as many records as they each could, had taken refuge in Chess's two room apartment…if only because neither William nor Birkheart wanted the others in their apartments and Grell had claimed his own quarters were far too messy for entertaining guests. Chess didn't seem to mind, though. She'd cleared off her kitchen table and had dragged her coffee table over so they could use it as well and distracted her cat with a small bowl of buttermilk and shredded chicken so it would stay out of their way. This aside, she didn't seem too pleased that everyone still seemed surprised she wanted to be in collections and not part of the secretarial staff.

Grell, on the other hand, was sure _corpses_ would wake up at the strength of Chess's tea and went to get more sugar for it. As he added a couple more spoonfuls of sugar to it, he decided the tea would either make Bassy extremely pleased or would just outright kill him from how strong it was alone. Needless to say, it made Grell rather curious what that outcome may be.

"So…how many records are there left for us to go through?" the frost-haired girl inquired, unphased by how strong her tea was.

"Just the ones we have here and another two dozen in the library," Birkheart replied quietly, sipping his coffee as though he hoped it would revive him completely.

Will frowned, looking through his notes as though they had personally offended him. "I do not see the point in us continuing to read through these records in a haphazard manner. We're getting nowhere at this rate. It would be better to switch tactics." Despite everyone but Grell staring at him as if he'd grown a second head, Will simply sipped his tea and added, "The oldest records we have left to look through predate four thousand BC, I doubt they would be helpful at all."

Chess blinked politely. "…what…um, what was around that long ago?"

"Sumeria," came Will and Birkheart's almost unanimous reply.

"Moving right along," Grell said before Chess could finish asking "who" Sumeria was. "Now, I _know_ I'm a little quick on the draw, but are you insinuating we should move to _proper_ leg work, _dear William_?"

Will twitched slightly as being called "dear", but recovered smoothly enough with a short nod. "We'll work much faster if we keep on the move."

"Hmm, I _suppose_ one of us will _have_ to wander about London in search of answers and—**_oh!_**" Grell added, nearly squealing and earning questioning looks from everyone (including the cat). "One of us should go keep an eye on _darling_ Sebastian. If _he's_ looking into it as well, that brat of his is probably _also_ looking into it. _Who knows_ what they might find."

Will frowned at Grell, impervious to the puppy dog eyes being sent in his general direction. "I don't believe it would be a good idea to put you and that demon in the same vicinity, Sutcliff."

"Then…Birkheart and I could go watch 'em," Chess supplied innocently, trying not to look too eager to prove herself.

"You haven't even _graduated_ yet," Grell protested, halfway between a pout and a sneer.

"But won't it…um…show our…uh…great dedication to being good reapers and…stuff like that?" Chess inquired, trying and failing to sound like a responsible adult.

Birkheart stayed silent, as far removed from the middle of it as possible.

"It _would_ be a decent remedial assessment," Will said, rereading his notes to avoid Grell's glare. "I have no objections to Marx and Birkheart keeping an eye on the Phantomhive household as long as you keep working, Grell."

Grell struggled with himself for a moment. On one hand, he might be able to see Sebastian even sooner than he usually did. On the other, Will was allowing them to work together again…and that never happened. Oh, _it wasn't __**fair**_ to be stuck between his two favorite men! And they weren't even in _bed!_ Grell sighed and caved in. "_Fine._"

The next thing he knew, he was being tackled by a white-haired girl who couldn't stop thanking him. Grell sulked. Not a fair choice, at all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Guys...I'm so tired, guys. Sorry for taking so long to post this. I was on holiday last week and now I feel like I need to go on holiday to recover from going on holiday. *drags self along floor in attempt to post chapter* Anywhos. We're back to the Reapers! And they've been super busy since e last saw them. Only one chappie left in this arc and then it's on to the next...any guesses who that arc'll focus on? Oh, my goggies! Thank you guys so much for all the reviews and watches and favs. ^^ You guys make me so happy. Hugs all around! And pizza! If you want some, that is. ^^; See you next week!


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